


Disasterology

by howellslester



Series: Disasterology [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Pierce the Veil
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, disclaimer: this is absolutely shit, please dont read it until ive rewritten it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellslester/pseuds/howellslester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil moves to a new town where Dan Howell's name is a warning and Dan likes the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is literally coming up to its third year of existing and i still hate it. i STILL despise it so i am rewriting it so please if you love me at all dont read this version

Phil’s never been good at beginnings.  
  
When his parents decided to move here, it was so Phil could have a fresh start, a new beginning. They pitied him - bullied at school, too apathetic to retaliate, causing his attackers to increase the torture - but never once stopped to consider that maybe he didn’t want a fresh start or a new beginning. They didn’t stop to realise that he’d fuck it up, just like everything else.  
  
It’s Phil’s first day at his new school, Kelkham Grammar. His parents were surprised he managed to make it into a grammar school. Phil himself wasn’t, however - he knew kids at grammar schools were less likely to beat you than those at comprehensives and private schools, so he half-arsed his way through the tests. The reason he was failing most of his lessons wasn’t because he was stupid - far from it, he was very capable - but rather because he just couldn’t be bothered. He found no joy in working, no solace in the thought of going into the outside world and earning money, so he put the thoughts out of his mind as much as possible.  
  
“Morning,” Phil’s mum chirps, looking up from her BlackBerry as he drags himself downstairs. Phil mumbles something in response. His younger brother’s innocent little face beams at him from the dining room table, and Phil smiles slightly, ruffling James’ hair as he walks past.  
  
“Breakfast?” he asks Maggie, their housekeeper. It’s too early for him to form full sentences.  
  
“On the table,” Maggie says, pointing at the plate opposite James. Phil doesn’t even bother to show he’s acknowledged her, flopping down in the leather chair opposite his brother and resting his elbows on the glass table.  
  
The Lester family are well-off, and Phil knows it. His dad is CEO of a huge law firm, with shares in an overseas oil company to add to that. His mum is a barrister, and together they make enough money in one year for them to cease working for a long while. They have houses in every corner of the globe, maids, cooks, everything they could need, but they enjoy working so they continue to do so, donating a huge chunk of their earnings to charities. They are the picture-perfect family.  
  
But that’s where Phil comes in. Phil doesn’t fit in this picture-perfect family. Phil’s not a hard-working, driven son like the one they wish they’d raised. He’s a quiet, introverted, walking failure. He doesn’t try at school, doing the minimum to get half-decent grades. He doesn’t have any particular talents, isn’t gifted at an instrument or a language. He isn’t much of a looker either, with his jet-black hair covering much of his face, ice-blue eyes and lanky frame. He’s moody, surly, never listens to anyone, never speaks to anyone and generally everything they don’t want in a child. He wishes they’d just give up on him, but even in their despairing they carry on trying to mould him into the person they wish he was. He just wants them to stop.  
  
Phil scrapes his chair back from the table, scratching it across the marble floor just to aggravate his mother. She looks up from her BlackBerry with a frown, but says nothing.  
  
“I’m going,” Phil mumbles, pressing a swift kiss to James’ forehead. “Bye, Mum.”  
  
“Have a good day!” she says cheerily, and Phil throws James a look. _Good day_. He’s more likely to come across a herd of buffalos than have a _good day_.  
  
James, in all his nine-year-old wisdom, understands Phil’s exasperated glance, and grins back at him with a quick roll of his eyes. Phil smiles; he’s taught James well.  
  
School’s not far away, luckily. Well, it would be, but Phil cuts through the garden of the house opposite to theirs and runs to the stream that runs along the bottom of it, jumps over the stream and cuts through yet another garden to avoid going the long route that would take a good half-hour to walk.  
  
By the time he vaults over whoever’s fence it is and saunters casually up their driveway to the street it’s gone eight-thirty, meaning he’s late to school on his first day.  
  
He doesn’t really care, though, and he continues his amble right through the huge oak doors of the old building.  
  
“Philip Lester?” the receptionist asks, looking at him over her glasses disapprovingly. “You’re late.”  
  
“I know,” Phil says.  
  
“Not a good start,” she says distastefully. “Here’s your timetable. Go and find your locker, and then go to your first lesson.” Phil takes the yellow sheet of paper she shoves towards him with her manicured fingers, not even thanking her before walking into the corridor outside the reception.  
  
His locker is in the Maths corridor, apparently. Which is no fucking help to him at all, as he doesn’t know where that is.  
  
He’s just starting up the stairs when a yell startles him into swivelling around.  
  
“Hey!” a boy yells, running through the corridor and coming to a stop at the bottom of the varnished mahogany stairs. He’s got brown hair in a fringe completely identical to Phil’s, a small ear-stretcher and a lip ring. His glittering brown eyes twinkle as he speaks. “Are you lost?” Phil nods, after a moment of hesitation.  
  
“I’m Leon,” he says. “Where do you need to go?”  
  
“Phil,” Phil says. “Maths corridor.” Leon nods and jogs up the stairs so he’s next to Phil.  
  
“Right direction,” he says, and then he’s taking the steps two at a time and Phil has to practically sprint to keep up with him. Phil’s not unfit by anyone’s standards, but even he’s out of breath by the time the blur of his surroundings has turned into a panelled corridor with ugly metal lockers that are as small as they are incongruous.  
  
“Here,” Leon says helpfully, opening a locker on the top row of lockers to reveal they’re even smaller on the inside than they look. It’s like a backwards TARDIS.  
  
“How am I going to fit anything in there?” Phil asks in disbelief. Leon squints at him.  
  
“What year are you in?” he asks.  
  
“Eleven,” Phil asks, wondering why that matters. Leon shrugs and opens a few of the lockers around Phil’s, stuffed full of books and folders.  
  
“You can use these too, then,” he says. Phil frowns.  
  
“They’re already in use,” he points out.  
  
“They’re Year Tens, you’re Year Eleven. They have to let you. School policy.” Phil has a strong feeling that it’s a student body policy rather than a school one, but chooses not to comment. He doesn’t need a locker anyway.  
  
“I’ll pass,” he says. “How long until the end of first period?”  
  
“Forty minutes,” Leon says, and Phil rolls his eyes. Just his luck. “What have you got?”  
  
“Chemistry, Mr Matharoo,” Phil reads from the sheet. Leon snorts.  
  
“Wow, man,” he says sympathetically. “You’re going to fail your GCSE. He sucks.”  
  
“Just what I need,” Phil mutters, pocketing his timetable. “Will you take me there?”  
  
“Sure,” Leon says, skipping off down the corridor. Phil groans as he sets of after him, following him through endless wooden and flagstone corridors until they skid to a halt outside a classroom.  
  
“Here you go,” Leon says helpfully.  
  
“Thanks,” Phil says awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Leon grins.  
  
“See you around, yeah, Phil?” he says, and Phil nods. He’s not planning on making any friends here; he’ll probably never speak to Leon again.  
  
Leon retreats down the corridor at lightning speed and Phil strides into the classroom, not even knocking.  
  
“Philip Lester?” the teacher says, and Phil nods curtly. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”  
  
“Not really,” Phil says bluntly. “Where do I sit?” The teacher, Mr Matharoo, clearly taken aback by Phil’s devil-may-care attitude, points to a lone seat in the back of the classroom.  
  
“As I was saying, covalent bonds can be found in things like-” is all Phil hears before he zones out for the rest of the lesson.  
-  
Phil’s walking to his next lesson, trying to work out where EN6 is, when he bumps into someone who drops their books. He’s about to apologise and help the person pick them up, when-  
  
“Pick them up.” The voice is hostile, cold, and Phil looks up from his timetable to come face to face with someone who looks a lot like Leon. He’s got brown hair swept across his face in a fringe, except in the opposite direction to Phil’s, and the same brown eyes as Leon, except instead of glittering with good humour they’re glinting with menace.  
  
“How about some fucking manners?” Phil says coolly, and suddenly the entire corridor, bustling with students, freezes and turns to the conflict at hand. The boy stares at Phil for a good few moments, clearly trying to unnerve him, before he turns to two boys behind him.  
  
“Chris, PJ,” the boy says, and the two other boys (presumably Chris and PJ) pick Phil up, one arm each, dragging him off down the corridor, much to everyone’s amusement. Phil grits his teeth; oh yes, how hilarious, the new boy is getting punished for not being a pushover. Fucking wonderful.  
  
They turn into a store room that Phil would never have noticed otherwise and shove him inside, locking the door.  
  
“Have fun getting out,” one of them calls casually, and they stride off without another word. Phil sighs, shrugging off his schoolbag and sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.  
  
Just his fucking luck to get on the wrong side of the school’s psychotic bully.  
  
He’s in there for what feels like days, picking at a loose thread on his skinny jeans, before he hears a key jiggling in the lock of the door and it clicks open, letting in a crack of light.  
  
“Phil?” someone says.  
  
“Yeah?” Phil replies, and the door swings open fully, hitting Phil square in the shin. Phil squints to adjust to the bright light burning his retinas, and realises Leon’s standing in the doorway.  
  
“It’s the end of school,” Leon says apologetically, holding out a hand to help Phil to his feet. “I would have come earlier, but Dan…”  
  
“Is that prick who got me locked in here your brother?” Phil asks.  
  
“Who, Dan? Yeah,” Leon says. Phil clenches his teeth.  
  
“He’s a psychotic child-abuser,” he proclaims, and Leon shrugs.  
  
“He’s my brother,” he says quietly, and Phil feels kind of bad. If anyone called James a psychotic child-abuser Phil would be right on their case.  
  
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t-”  
  
“No, I know,” Leon says with a dismissive wave. “Whatever. Anyway, you’re free now. Just…try not to cross Dan again. He doesn’t like backchat.”  
  
“ _I_ don’t like blatant rudeness,” Phil says. “I’ll backchat him until he stops.”  
  
“On your own head be it,” Leon shrugs, turning on his heel and heading off down the corridor. Phil curses under his breath. He doesn’t even know how to get to the exit in this maze of a school, so he settles for climbing out of a window and over the school fence, finding himself on the main road. Handy, that - next time he inevitably gets locked in there he’ll remember that.  
  
He goes back the way he came, vaulting across fences and jumping over streams until he arrives on his street. He’s just ambling over to his house - by far the largest and most aesthetically pleasing - when he notices Leon getting out of a car down the road, ten or so houses down, followed by that Dan.  
  
Fuck. His life just can’t get any worse.  
-  
His routine the next morning is much the same, except his mum’s not home. He’s used to that, though - with a barrister and a CEO of a huge law firm as parents, he can hardly expect to spend a lot of time with them. He doesn’t want to, anyway, so it suits everybody.  
  
“Do you like your new school?” James asks, when Maggie bustles out of the room to make their beds. Phil shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t like _any_ school,” he says darkly. “Secondary school sucks, James.” James frowns.  
  
“I’m going to be in secondary school in two years,” James says. “Will it suck for me too?”  
  
“Nah,” Phil says, ruffling his brother’s hair fondly. “You’ve got me.”  
  
“Will you remind me to leave at the right time for school?” James asks, and Phil frowns.  
  
“Er, if you want?” he says. James smiles sweetly.  
  
“Because it’s already twenty-five past,” he says, and Phil stands up so quickly his chair falls backwards onto the floor. He doesn’t care, though, grabbing his schoolbag and running across gardens, over streams and fences and across roads to get to school.  
  
He still gets there late, despite his best efforts. And to make matters worse, the first thing he sees when he walks through the wrought iron gates into the school building is Dan and his little posse swaggering down the corridor.  
  
“Learned your lesson?” Dan asks, eyes glinting but still cold and empty. Phil folds his arms and stands his ground. He’s not taking Dan’s shit just like everyone else does. He’s used to being the most hated person in the school; it won’t make any difference to him.  
  
“The lesson of you being a prick? Yeah, I learnt that the second you opened your mouth,” Phil fires back, and the boys flanking Dan bristle dangerously. Dan makes no indication for them to hurt Phil, though, so they don’t move.  
  
“You be careful,” Dan says after a moment, the flicker of a smirk present on his features. “It would be _such_ a shame if you got yourself hurt.” With that he sweeps past in a manner that very much reminds Phil of Draco Malfoy, his little gang of Crabbes and Goyles following him as he goes. Phil shakes his head; nutters, the lot of them. Then again, they’re nutters who go through with their threats, so maybe Phil should tone it down a bit.  
  
He wanders down a random corridor to his English lesson, finding it oddly familiar for some reason. He realises why when he hears someone yelling and rattling a doorknob; this is the corridor he ended up getting himself locked in yesterday.  
  
“Hang on,” Phil calls, striding up to the door and trying the doorknob. It’s locked - obviously, otherwise the kid inside would have been able to get out. Phil swears under his breath - one of Dan’s goons will have the key.  
  
Unless…  
  
He’d been let out by Leon yesterday, right? And Leon seemed alright, even though he’s Dan’s brother. Maybe Leon will take pity. But the question now is where the fuck is Leon?  
  
“I’m going to get you out,” Phil calls.  
  
“That would be nice,” a sarcastic voice yells back. “You seem to be taking your time.”  
  
“I don’t have a key, what do you want me to do?” Phil asks, a bit annoyed at the boy’s tone. “I know who does, though. I just don’t know where he is.”  
  
“If you’re talking about Dan, I’ll pass,” the voice says. “Or Chris. Or PJ.”

“Relax,” Phil says. “I’m talking about Leon.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “He’s in MA1. Or, well, he should be. I doubt he is; he rarely turns up to Maths. You’re more likely to find him in the gym, or running around through corridors.”

“I wish he’d run into this corridor,” Phil mutters. “Where’s the gym?”

“Down the stairs at the end of the corridor, take two lefts and a right,” the kid says, and Phil nods before realising the person can’t see him.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, setting off at a jog down the corridor. He’s never going to find his way around this school, but it doesn’t really bother him – he’s not planning on spending much time in here anyway. What was it the kid said? Three lefts, then a right? Or was it two lefts, and two rights? One left and two rights? Fuck, Phil needs to actually listen to people.

He doesn’t even know why he’s going to such lengths to help this person. He doesn’t even know them – how can he, they’re locked in the room – yet he’s willing to run ( _run_ ) to the gym to find Dan’s brother and ask for the key for the weird little storage room. Maybe it’s just to get back at Dan for being such a dick for no apparent reason.  Yeah, he decides. That’s it. And it’s probably going to land him in a lot of trouble.

He makes his way to the gym eventually, and sure enough, Leon is sitting on a horse (a vaulting horse, that is, not some random beast that happened to wander into the school without anybody noticing), smoking something.

“Hey,” Phil calls. Leon whips around to see who it is, and his face splits into a huge grin.

“Phil, my man!” he slurs, and Phil has a feeling smoking’s not all he’s been doing. He’s itching with the urge to join Leon, but he needs to get the boy out of the room.

“Do you have the key to that room?” Phil asks, making his way over. Leon frowns.

“I’m not supposed to give it to anyone,” he whispers, glancing from left to right as if someone is going to see them.

“I’ll give it back to you, I promise,” Phil says. “I just need to get someone out.”

“But…Dan…” Leon’s argument is faltering as his alcohol-riddled brain struggles to put two and two together. “Okay, fine. But…give it back, promise?”

“I promise,” Phil says, as Leon digs a key out of his pocket. “Thanks, Leon.” He hurries back off in the direction he came, throwing a quick glance at the clock in the gym as he goes. He’s got about twenty minutes until first period ends – hopefully he can make it back to the corridor without getting lost before then.

In fact, he makes it back to the corridor in no time at all (figuratively speaking), taking all the right turns. He’s pretty pleased with himself for that.

“Hey,” he says, approaching the door to the room. “I got the key.”

“You did?” The person sounds surprised. “Dude, I thought you were just going to leave me. Most people do.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’m not most people then, aren’t you?” Phil says, unlocking the door with a click and pulling it open. A small, tanned kid tumbles out, and when he straightens up he barely reaches Phil’s shoulders. He grins up at him, shoving a baseball cap that was on the floor back on his tousled, shoulder-length hair.

“I owe you one,” the boy says. “I’m Vic, by the way.”

“Phil,” Phil says. Vic frowns.  

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he says. Phil grimaces.

“That’s because I started yesterday and spent the whole day in that fucking room,” he says, jerking his head towards the room Vic’s just come out of. Vic pulls a sympathetic face.

“What happened?” he says. Phil sighs.

“Oh, I pissed Dan off by standing up to him,” he shrugs. “What did you deserve to get locked in there, anyway?” It’s Vic’s turn to shrug.

“Dunno, man,” he says. “They just hate me. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m Mexican. Racists. I’m small too, y’know, so they like to see what places they can fit me in.”

“Bastards,” Phil says, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Vic agrees vehemently. “Hey, do you want to hang out with us at break? I mean, you don’t have to, don’t feel obliged, but.” He breaks off, shrugging awkwardly. Phil smiles.

“Sure,” he says. This Vic kid seems nice enough, right? Plus, maybe it’ll give him some protection against Dan and his cronies.


	2. Chapter 2

Vic’s friends accept Phil as if he’s always been there, offering him food and swapping jokes and banter. There aren’t many of them, but Phil’s never really had friends anyway. No one likes his apathetic attitude, and he’s never made any effort to appeal to anyone. Vic and all his friends, however, are clearly too thick to see Phil’s personality-less person for what it is.

“Where did you even move from?” Mike, Vic’s brother (though you wouldn’t think it – they look nothing alike, and Mike’s about a foot taller than Vic) asks, dodging a well-aimed sausage roll to the face expertly.

“The countryside,” Phil shrugs. “Dunno, we never really stay anywhere long.”

“Are you saying you’re going to leave us soon?” Jaime demands, throwing another sausage roll at Mike. “Dammit, will you stop moving? I’ve only got three left,” he exclaims, directing this at Mike as he furiously pelts him with another. Mike grins and ducks again.

“No,” Phil says. “I think we’re going to stay here a while; Dad’s setting up a new branch of his business somewhere around here.”

“Here?” Vic asks, joining Jaime in pelting his brother with food. Mike yelps and scarpers, running around the back of the tree they’re sitting near. Jaime laughs and simply gets up, following Mike with his food.

“Yeah, I don’t really know,” Phil says, watching Jaime and Mike in amusement. Mike could easily pick Jaime up and stop him, but he’s laughing at Jaime’s desperation to actually hit him. “I don’t know much about my parents.”

“Man, I wish I didn’t know much about my parents,” Tony says with a grimace, and Vic laughs.

“He walked in on them once,” he says to Phil. “As in…” The wink he punctuates his trailed off sentence with leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Sucks to be you,” Phil says, but he’s grinning. There’s a victorious yell and all three of them turn to see Jaime jumping around cheering and Mike with a piece of ham on his shirt.

“I win!” Jaime crows, as he makes his way back to their little camp. “I totally beat him, did you guys see that?”

“No,” Vic says, squinting up at him. Jaime scowls.

“I owned your brother, Victor,” he says.

“If you call me that one more time I’ll make you pay,” Vic warns. Tony throws Phil a look, a don’t-worry-this-is-all-part-of-their-flirting look, and Phil grins back at him. He likes Tony, Vic, Mike and Jaime; they’re entertaining, genuine and kind people.

“…Victor,” Jaime says, with a shit-eating grin which immediately turns into a piercing shriek as the smaller man gets up from the ground and runs towards him with lightning speed that Phil hadn’t expected. Vic manages to wrestle Jaime to the ground, straddling him and pinning his wrists to the floor so that he can’t move at all. Phil’s pretty sure he’s never seen as much lust in anyone’s eyes as there is in Jaime’s right now.

“You wanna call me that one more fucking time?” Vic hisses, but there’s no heat behind his words, just some kind of lustful fire in his eyes.

“Are they fucking?” Phil whispers to Tony. Tony rolls his eyes.

“We’ve been telling them to get a move on for years, but, no,” he says.

“Three o’clock,” Mike says suddenly, and everyone freezes. Vic barely has time to roll off of Jaime, cap falling off in the process, before Dan, Chris, PJ and Leon round the corner of the building, swaggering along the path.

“What the fuck are they doing here?” Vic hisses, shoving his cap back on. “They never come around here.”

“Philip,” Dan says as they draw closer. “Hanging around with faggots now, are you?”

“If I wanted that, I’d hang around with you,” Phil shoots back with a glare. Dan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a brief flicker of something Phil almost recognises that flits through his eyes.

“You want to be careful,” Dan says. “I don’t think you understand how stuff works around here.”

“I think I do,” Phil says. “You bully innocent people and get your gang of lunatics to do the job for you.” He throws an apologetic glance at Leon, who’s hiding behind PJ – he likes Leon well enough; he doesn’t include him in the ‘gang of lunatics’.

“That reminds me…” Dan says smoothly. “How did you get out of that room, Vic?” Leon’s face turns into a mask of pure horror and he glances pleadingly at Phil. Phil’s nod is barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it – he’ll take the blame.

“How did he get in there?” Phil asks, just as smoothly. “What had he done?”

“Does that concern you, Phil?” Dan asks. Phil looks as if he’s considering for a moment, exaggerating the expression to mock Dan.

“Yes, actually, it does,” he says. “Because he’s my friend.” Dan laughs shrilly.

“Oh, pity-friendships,” he says in his velvety voice. “So sweet.”

“Better than friendships built on fear,” Phil fires back, throwing a meaningful glance at Chris and PJ, flanking Dan. Dan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.

“I’ve put up with you long enough,” he says in a bored tone. “Take him away.”

“No,” Leon blurts, and Dan turns to look at him, clearly taken aback.

“What?” he asks. Leon gnaws on his lip.

“You locked him in there all of yesterday, man. Can you just…we’ve got better things to do,” he says weakly. Dan’s silent for a moment – Phil can’t see his face, because he’s facing away from them – but he seems to give in.

“Let none say I am not merciful,” Dan says with a gracious smirk. Phil rolls his eyes.

“Let none say you’re not full of yourself either,” he says.

“Watch it,” Dan says dangerously.

“All I want to watch right now is you leave,” Phil says. Dan raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I am looking forward to tomorrow,” he says, and with one last smirk in Phil’s direction he turns on his heel and saunters away, his posse following him like faithful hounds. Phil stares after them until they’re gone, and then turns back to his new friends and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Woah,” Vic says, with awe in his voice. He’s still lying on the ground next to Jaime, hair tousled and a shocked expression on his face. “Man.”

“Dude,” Tony says.

“Shit,” Mike says. Phil frowns.

“What?” he asks, wondering if he had suddenly sprouted wings or an extra set of arms.

“I’ve never seen anyone talk to Dan like that,” Vic says.

“Yeah, and he actually backed off?” Tony says. “Like, that’s unheard of.”

“Well, it was because of Leon,” Phil mutters. He can feel himself flushing red; great, just what he needs right now.

“But still,” Vic says. “I mean, you just…you owned him.”

“Yeah, but he’s going to get me tomorrow,” Phil points out. His stomach drops at the mere thought of it. Locking him in a darkened room for six hours was bad enough; what are they going to do tomorrow? He’s had his fair share of beatings, sure – he has the scars and still-fading bruises to show it – but that doesn’t mean he’s up for another just yet. They don’t get any better the more he gets, just a little easier to endure.

“Whatever, Phil,” Mike says. “That was amazing. You’re going to be our gang leader.” There’s a collective groan from Jaime, Vic and Tony.

“We are not a gang,” Jaime says.

“This isn’t a gang,” Tony says.

“What the hell would our gang name even be?” Vic demands.

“The Sexicans,” Mike grins widely. Vic stares at him in disbelief.

“Okay, one – that is the least threatening gang name I have heard. Ever. Ever. The motherfucking sexi- whatever. And two, Phil’s not even Mexican.”

“The Sexicasians, fuck, I don’t know,” Mike says, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Cauxicans,” Jaime offers, and Vic throws him a glare. “What?” he says, holding his hands up defensively.

“We’re not a gang, Mike,” Tony says. “When are you going to get that into your head?”

“We could be,” Mike says sadly. “The Kelkham Mafia.”

“You’re getting more and more ridiculous every day,” Vic says, shaking his head. “No wonder Mum thinks you’re a crack addict.”

“Mum thinks I’m a crack addict?” Mike says, scandalised.  
-  
Phil ends up not going to any more lessons that day anyway, choosing instead to hang out at the back with Vic, Jaime, Tony and Mike. Vic and Jaime spend most of their time bantering flirtatiously; Tony most of his shaking his head at them, and Mike most of his time asking Phil weird questions and talking at a hundred miles an hour.

The bell rings for the end of the day and that’s when Phil realises that in two days at this school he’s only actually attended one lesson, which makes him feel kind of bad. He’s not going to achieve anything if he keeps skipping lessons, but he’s not going to achieve anything that makes him happy if he goes to them. It’s a difficult balance.

He’s about to walk out of the building when he remembers the key burning a hole in his pocket, and practically sprints to the gym to find Leon. He’s not there – just Phil’s luck, of course he won’t be – and Phil swears under his breath, trying the room him and Vic had been locked in. No one’s in there, let alone Leon – of course, why would he be, it’s Dan’s punishment room, and Leon’s Dan’s brother.

Phil sighs and gives up, trudging out of school and into the car park, which he has to walk through to get out. He spots Leon leaning against the hood of a car and perks up – maybe Lady Luck is actually starting to pity him – when Dan ambles out of another door in the building, heading for the same car, and Phil scowls. How is Leon going to get his key back now?

It’s too late to turn away, however – both Leon and Dan have spotted him. Leon waves him over excitedly, Dan simply glares at him. He doesn’t seem to want to try anything with only Leon and no Chris or PJ – predictable, of course, most bullies are nothing without backup.

“Hey!” Leon says as Phil draws nearer, hanging back a little because he doesn’t want to get too close to Dan. Dan’s not paying attention to him anyway, tapping away on his iPhone. “Have you…y’know?” Phil nods, slipping it into Leon’s outstretched hand stealthily. Leon grins at him and puts it into his own pocket, patting it to make sure it’s there.

Phil’s about to turn on his heel and leave when Leon speaks.

“Hey,” he says. “You should come over and play videogames with me.”

“I’m shit at videogames,” Phil says, looking for any excuse to get out of getting in a tiny metal box with Dan. He’s not, but he doesn’t want to be in Dan’s house. Even if he does like Leon.

“Even better,” Leon grins. “I get to feel superior for once. Come on, just a couple of hours. We’ll take you home afterwards.” Phil doesn’t want to mention that won’t be necessary, he can probably see his house from theirs – Dan’ll get Chris and PJ to egg it or something.

“I really shouldn’t-“ Phil says, but suddenly someone’s jerking on his hand and he’s being pulled along to the sleek black vehicle. “No, Leon, I-“ he tries, but Leon doesn’t listen.

“I’m not taking him with us,” Dan says, looking up from his texting to throw Phil a dirty look. He’s kind of hot, in a weird, malicious way, Phil notices, and immediately shakes the thought out of his head. Nope. Leon’s much better looking, clearly.

“Good, because I don’t want to be with you,” Phil snarls, wrenching his hand out of Leon’s grip. Leon rolls his eyes.

“Can you two stop acting like seven year olds?” he demands. “Fuck, Dan, I’m not forcing him to have sex with you or anything. Just take him with us; we’ll stay out of your way.” Something flashes in Dan’s eyes, but after a moment he nods curtly.

“Get in,” he says shortly, climbing in himself. Leon grins at Phil and runs around to the other side of the car. Phil smiles weakly, trying and failing to disguise the fuck fuck fuck that’s chorusing in his head.   
-  
The car ride is utterly silent. Even Leon senses the atmosphere is not one that will be diffused by speech, so they all stare stonily out of their respective windows until they arrive at Dan and Leon’s house.

“Out,” Dan says in a clipped tone, and both Leon and Phil tumble inelegantly out of the car. Dan stalks into the house without a single glance back, and Leon shakes his head.

“Don’t mind him,” he says.

“He’s such a dick sometimes,” Phil says.

“Try having him as a brother,” Leon says, and they both laugh.

They play videogames for the next few hours, Phil beating Leon easily at almost every game they play. He’s tempted to let Leon win a few times, just because Leon’s been ranting about how much he hates pity-wins every time he actually beats Phil. All too soon, however, he looks out of the window and realises it’s pitch black. He has to get home; not that anyone will be worrying, but it’s best he gets home before James goes to bed, because James likes to know Phil’s in the house before he goes to sleep.

“Shit, man, I have to go,” Phil says, throwing the controller down.

“Fuck you,” Leon says, still not over his last loss, on Mariokart of all games. “Go away. Never darken my door again.”

“You’ll be begging for me back tomorrow,” Phil says with a grin, and Leon sighs.

“Probably,” he says. “Only to beat you with my ultimate skills, though.”

“The ultimate skills that you have yet to discover,” Phil says, getting up. “Thanks for…y’know. It was nice.” And it had been, he’s not lying – it was nice, like it was with Vic and the others, to just sit and have a laugh and a bit of banter. It’s a shame Leon has such a twat of a brother.

“Fuck you,” Leon repeats, but he’s laughing. “Yeah, same. I don’t really…y’know. Friends.”

“You should come and sit with us tomorrow,” Phil invites, unsure whether it’s his place to or not, but going for it anyway. “You’ll get on with everyone.” Leon looks tempted.

“I would, but…” he jerks his head upstairs. “Dan.”

“Can’t you get shot of him just one lunch?” Phil asks, and Leon sighs.

“I’ll see,” he says, but he sounds unsure.

“I’d better go, then,” Phil says, kind of subdued. He wants Leon to have friends, although he’s not really sure why. He’s never been bothered about himself not having any friends, so why does it bother him that Leon has none?

He knows why. Because it will aggravate Dan.

He pushes the thought of why are you doing everything you can to annoy that boy to the back of his mind, not wanting to consider the possibilities, and follows Leon out of the room into the hallway.

“Anyway,” Leon says awkwardly. “Do you need a lift?”

“No,” Phil says. “I live just down the road.”

And as if out of nowhere, Dan appears, leaning over the banister.

“Down the road?” he says, sounding interested. “Posh boy, right? Son of the CEO of some law firm and a barrister. Multi-millionaire parents.” Phil wishes Dan would shut his mouth, for various reasons. Now Leon’s only going to want to be friends with him for his money. Great.

“Fuck you,” he hisses up at Dan, and Dan grins widely.

“Interesting,” he says, and as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.

“He does that,” Leon says. “It’s annoying. Anyway, see you!” Phil waves at him, thankful he made no comment about what Dan had said, and walks off down the street and to his house, hands in his pockets as he makes his way through the darkness.

“Hey,” he calls to Maggie and James, who are watching TV in the cinema room. He climbs the glass staircase that leads to his room – secluded from the rest of the house, just like he’d requested – and flops down onto his bed.

There’s something about Dan that makes him a permanent thought in Phil’s mind, although mostly it’s about how much Phil wants to punch him.

He groans, rolling over, unable to get the brown-eyed bastard out of his mind. He is so screwed.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

Phil actually attends some lessons the next day – some being the operative word. He wonders when (if) he’ll actually make it through a full day. He guesses he’s lucky in that most of his teachers don’t seem to know he exists, and when he _does_ waltz into their classrooms they choose not to acknowledge his existence anyway.

It’s break now, though, and he’s managed to avoid the Dan Clique all day so far, something which he’s relatively proud of. He’s not been too keen to cross paths with them, especially after the odd threat Dan made yesterday.

“I had the worst French lesson ever,” Vic scowls as he walks over, throwing his books and bag rather violently to the ground. It must have been pretty terrible, because all the sheets fly out of his French folder and Vic throws himself face-first to the floor and makes a strangled noise of discontent.

“What happened?” Tony asks, looking concerned.

“Who cares?” Mike says. Vic lifts his head long enough to throw him a glare.

“I hate you,” he proclaims. “You’re the worst brother ever. _Ever_. If brotherliness could be measured on a scale, Sam and Dean Winchester would be at the top and you wouldn’t even _be_ on the scale, that’s how shit you are as a brother. All you do is masturbate and text me from your room because you’re too lazy to cook for yourself.”

“I get you alcohol,” Mike points out. Vic has to concede there.

“I could get my own alcohol,” he grumbles, and Mike snorts.

“Yeah, of course you could, Shorty,” Mike says, and Vic sits up, throwing a handful of grass at his brother.

“Do you have a brother?” he asks Phil. “Because if you do, I hope to hell he’s better than that twat.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, smiling involuntarily. “James. He’s nine.”

“Aw!” Tony says, grinning as he hugs his knees to his chest. “I love little kids.” Jaime snorts, ripping some grass out lazily from where he’s lying on his chest.

“You have no idea how creepy that sounded,” he says, and Tony scowls. He’s about to retaliate when Phil spots someone hanging awkwardly at the corner of the building.

“Leon?” he calls, and the person starts in shock. “Come over.” Leon walks hesitantly towards the group, hanging back a little and not getting too close.

“Hey,” he mumbles, face burning. Vic turns to look at Phil, a look (a _look_ ) on his face.

“Isn’t he Dan’s brother?” Vic hisses, and Phil nods.

“He’s cool though, I promise,” he says. “I went to his house yesterday and played videogames. He sucks at Mariokart.” Vic’s lips quirk into a smile at that, and it takes him mere milliseconds before he’s nodding his head and turning back to Leon.

“Hey, come sit,” he says, patting the space between him and Jaime. Jaime scoots up so he’s practically lying on Vic. “Okay, maybe not here then,” Vic says, trying to sound annoyed, but the effect is completely lost by the huge grin he’s sporting. Leon lingers for a moment before walking over awkwardly and sitting down in the now huge gap between Phil and Jaime.

“Leon, right?” Vic says, and Leon nods. “You’re in my Maths class; I know you.”

“I’m sorry for intruding,” Leon says, and Jaime throws some more grass at Mike idly.

“Nah, don’t be,” he says. “Phil says you suck at Mariokart.”

“I so do not,” Leon says hotly, throwing Phil a glare. “I have mad skills.”

“Mad as in you’re a lunatic to think they’re skills?” Phil says, grinning as he dodges a slap to the arm.

“Can you stop throwing shit at me?” Mike demands. Jaime shrugs, throwing some more grass at him.

“No,” he says. “I’ve already eaten my food. Grass will have to do for now.”

“Tell him to stop,” Mike says to Leon. Leon looks slightly overwhelmed and throws Phil a wild look, so Phil steps in.

“Guys, why don’t we introduce ourselves to Leon?” he says. Leon looks relieved.

“I’m Vic, as you know,” Vic says. “I run this hood.”

“I’m Mike,” Mike says. “I’m Vic’s brother, and I’m still trying to get us to become the Sexicans.”

“We will never become the Sexicans. And if we do, we’ll kick you out, because you’re not sexy. I’m Jaime, by the way, the coolest bro to hang in this group,” Jaime says, throwing a dimpled grin in Leon’s direction.

“I’m Tony,” Tony says. “I suck at Mariokart too.” Tony and Leon share a grin.

“Welcome to your new friendship group,” Jaime exclaims. “You can’t get away from us now. Especially Victor.” Leon looks stuck somewhere between overjoyed and ridiculously terrified, and Phil’s about to say something when Vic mounts Jaime again at lightning speed.

“ _Are you going to stop calling me motherfucking Victor or am I going to have to stop you myself_?” he yells, pinning a struggling Jaime down.

“Are they…?” Leon whispers to Phil, Tony and Mike with round eyes. Tony shakes his head with a sigh.

“Hopefully soon, though,” he says. “It’s been _years_ of this ridiculous flirting.” He bites his lip after a moment. “You’re not going to…tell your brother, are you?” Leon shakes his head.

“Dan’s alright, you know,” he says with a sigh, picking at some grass. “I don’t know why he acts like such a dick at school. He’s lovely at home.”

“He wasn’t particularly pleasant yesterday,” Phil points out, remembering with a chill that the Dan Bitches are probably going to egg his house or something. Great.

“That’s because you were there,” Leon says. “He likes to act all tough around people.”

“He’s pretty lenient on Phil, though,” Vic says. “I mean, I got locked in that fucking room for saying he looked a bit peaky. Just concerned for his health and all that, y’know.” Something about the smirk as he looks down at Jaime, whose head is resting on Vic’s knee, says it was more than concern for Dan’s health.

“Sure,” Leon snorts, starting to ease up a bit. “I don’t know, he _is_ acting a bit weird with Phil. Bipolar; he’ll be really horrible one minute, and really lenient the next. I might ask him about it.”

“He’s probably jealous of my epic videogame skills,” Phil proclaims. “That’s it, I figured it out.” But something about what Leon says, that even _Leon_ is admitting there’s something weird about the way Dan is treating Phil nags at him. Maybe Dan can’t get Phil out of his mind either. Maybe Dan wants to punch Phil all the time too. It wouldn’t surprise anyone.

“Shut up, just ‘cause you beat me at Mariokart,” Leon scowls.

“And Call of Duty. And Modern Warfare. And I got like, twelve levels further than you in Skyri-“

“Alright, fine!” Leon says, amidst everyone’s laughter. “Maybe I suck a little bit.”

“We should have another videogame weekend,” Mike exclaims, dodging another clump of grass that Jaime chucks in his direction. “What the fuck is with you throwing shit at me?” he demands.

“Yeah, it’s going all over me. If you’re going to throw stuff, can you learn to fucking _aim_ ,” Tony says irritably, brushing grass off his shirt.

“Are we going to our next lesson?” Vic asks. Everyone quickly glances around the circle.

“I’m alright,” Jaime says.

“I’d rather not,” Tony declines politely.

“I’m good here,” Mike says decidedly.

“I’ve got _more French_ ,” Vic says with a shudder, making everyone laugh. Phil throws a quick sideways glance at Leon to see he’s laughing too, and a weird tingly king of warmth spreads through his entire body. He feels…well, he feels _good_ , having done something to make someone else happy. It’s a weird feeling, but not one he thoroughly dislikes.   
_  
They skip the next two lessons, lazing around on the grass in the autumn sun.

“Do you think I can get a tan?” Mike asks, lying down and squinting upwards.

“You’re Mexican,” Vic says. “If you get any more tanned, you’ll become…very tanned. Like burnt toast.”

“Thanks for that,” Mike says sarcastically. “I don’t want to lose my tan over winter, though, y’know? What if I turn… _beige_?”

“The Beige Mexican,” Vic says, giggling as he dodges a punch from Mike.

“Sounds ominous,” Tony says.

“It will be if Vic carries on like that,” Mike says, glowering at Vic.

“Carries on like what?” a voice says, and everyone whips around to see Dan standing above them, grinning down at them, Chris and PJ flanking him as ever (Phil is convinced they’re robots. No humans could ever be that obedient).

“None of your business,” Vic snaps, looking shocked as soon as the words have left his mouth, as if he can’t believe he just said them.

“Watch that pretty little mouth of yours, Vic,” Dan says smoothly. “You want to be careful what comes out of it. Or goes in…” he adds, throwing an almost bored glance at Jaime. Both of them look horrified.

“What do you want?” Phil asks in a long-suffering tone.

“I want to know what you did to get my kid brother to hang out with you,” Dan says, crossing his arms.

“We treated him like a person,” Phil says shortly. “Is that all? You can leave now.”

“Oh, that’s not all,” Dan says. “I’d like to speak to you, Phil.”

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say here,” Phil says defiantly. Dan raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow (he _must_ pluck them).

“I don’t think what I have to say concerns anyone else here, nor should it,” he says. “I know where we can go.”

“Why would I go anywhere with you?” Phil demands. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Dan allows with a shark-like grin. “Chris, PJ, stay here. I’ll be back before you know it.” Chris and PJ nod – of course they nod, they’re Dan’s bitches – and Phil throws a helpless look around the circle. Vic and Leon shrug; Mike and Tony shake their heads with wide eyes and Jaime’s still glowering at Dan.

“Fine,” Phil says, going against the ninety-nine percent of him that is shrieking _what the fuck are you doing get as far away from him as you possibly can rent an aeroplane and fly to California_ and standing up, brushing the stray grass that has flown at him (thanks, Jaime) off his shirt.

“I may be crazy, but you’re the one following the crazy man,” Dan says as he strides away, loud enough for everyone to hear. Phil scowls and keeps his distance, not trusting Dan _one bit_. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, following Dan. Dan might _rape him_. He should turn around right now, head back to the safety of his friends.

But he doesn’t.

_It is our choices, Harry, that show us who we truly are._

So clearly Phil is a stark raving lunatic. That’s just great.

“Where are we going?” Phil asks suspiciously as they draw closer to the school building. They’re all meant to be in lessons right now, so all the corridors are deserted. Dan steps inside, holding the door open for Phil. Phil waits for Dan to let it swing shut with a meaningful look; he’s not going to get too close to Dan, or Dan’s going to do something bad. Dan rolls his eyes but lets the door bang shut. Phil opens it immediately and follows Dan, up endless winding staircases and down panelled corridors until they’re eventually standing in a spacious room that seems to be in total disuse.

“What’s this? Why are we here? Why am _I_ here?” Phil demands, and Dan grins.

“So, Phil,” he says casually, leaning against the wall. “I spoke to some buddies from your old school.” Phil blanches. What had Dan found out?

“And?” he says. He hadn’t done anything _really_ bad, right? His mind is suddenly in overdrive, mentally listing every miniscule thing he had done at that school over the numerous years he had spent behind its bars (metaphorically).

“And they seemed to all think there was something _very_ interesting about your…sexuality,” Dan says, and Phil breathes a sigh of relief.

“Is that all?” he says. “Yeah, I’m bisexual. Wow, call the newspapers, boy is sexually attracted to girls _and_ boys. It’ll be a cover story. Top scoop. Can I go now?”

“I don’t think so,” Dan says, with that annoying smirk still plastered on his face, and Phil frowns.

“Why? You got what you came for,” he says, confused.

“I don’t think I got it,” Dan says.

“What do you want?” And Dan’s moving closer, still smirking, and Phil’s backing away, but he suddenly feels the cold hard wall against his back and he can’t back away any further and he doesn’t want this, not with Dan, he doesn’t want anything with Dan, he just wants to _get away_ …

But Dan doesn’t do anything. He just stands there, so close that Phil can feel his body heat and his breath, but _doesn’t do anything_. Phil almost wishes he would, just to relieve the tension and suspense in the atmosphere. Dan seems to get off on it though, because he stays there a few more tantalising moments before backing away with a soft, huffed laugh.

“Interesting,” he says, and then he walks out of the room.

Phil has literally no idea what just happened.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two days pass uneventfully. Jaime throws shit at Mike, Mike yells at Jaime some more, Jaime calls Vic Victor, Vic yells at Jaime some more, Tony shakes his head at them all some more, Leon laughs at them all and Phil sits there grinning at everything. It’s odd to have an actual group of friends – he wasn’t expecting them to turn out as _friends_. He was expecting it to be maybe a break, lunch thing, and then he’d be off again, excluding himself. After all, when Vic offered for him to sit with them at lunch, it was only polite.

Now, however, it’s Friday night (or rather, Saturday morning), and Phil’s locked up in his own corner of the house listening to music at volumes no one else would consider acceptable. He’s got some vodka and he’s sipping from it, wincing every time the liquid slips down his throat, scratching and burning as it goes, but still drinking more and more until he can barely see straight. It makes him feel better, emptier yet fuller, more numb than ever yet bursting with emotions. It’s more than liquid confidence; it’s liquid life.

He vaguely registers a weird ringing that’s hurting his ears – make it _stop_ – but doesn’t get up to look for the source of it. He feels impenetrable right now, as if he’s surrounded by a nice fluffy cloud that no one can pierce.

The ringing starts up again, and Phil whimpers in frustration. It _hurts_. He decides to look for the source of this hellish noise, pushing himself off the floor and taking a moment to balance. Woah. Was the room always this…spinny?

He finds it eventually – his phone – and presses a few buttons randomly, trying to shut the damn thing up. It works, but some other noise filters into his ear – a boy’s voice, speaking slowly and giggling a lot, slurring his words.

“Wassup?” Phil says, steadying himself on the desk as his vision blurs again.

“Can…can we come in?” the person says, and Phil nods. He doesn’t realise they can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Come in.”

“Door,” the voice says. “Locked.”

“Oh,” says Phil. “One…one minute.” He puts the phone down on the table, not even hanging up, just leaving it there. He doesn’t think about it, wrenching the door open and stumbling down numerous staircases to reach the front door, pulling it open.

Outside are Vic, Jaime, Leon, Mike and Tony.

“Guys,” Phil says, grinning. “Guys.”

“Are you drunk?” Tony giggles. “Because I’m drunk.”

“We’re all drunk!” Vic yells, and Jaime shushes him with a drunken finger to his lips.

“Don’t wanna get…get neighbours,” he says, frowning as he tries to string the words together, struggling with the polysyllabic ones.

“Can we come in?” Mike says in an exaggerated stage-whisper. Phil nods, already beginning to sober a little. He’s always been pretty good at handling his alcohol – he’s had years of practice, after all.

He steps aside and lets his own little posse inside (they are pretty sexy, he notes. Maybe he’ll have to take Mike up on that Sexican thing), waiting for them to gather in the hallway before shutting the front door.

“Your house is _huge_ ,” Tony says in awe, gazing at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

“Don’t like it,” Phil says, starting up the stairs and ushering the others up too. They traipse along behind him, all the way to his room, where he shuts them all inside. As his house is pretty massive, his room is too – big enough to fit all six of them comfortably inside. Big enough for them all to sleep in, even.

“Your _room_ is huge,” Leon says. “When…when this house was being built, we all thought- we thought-“ he’s suddenly overcome with a fit of laughter, so Phil never finds out what everyone thought.

“I’m not as drunk now,” Vic frowns. “I want to be more drunk.”

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Tony suggests. Leon nods enthusiastically.

“I _hate_ truth or dare,” Mike moans.

“That’s- that’s because you always lose,” Vic says.

“You can’t…you can’t _lose_ truth or dare,” Mike says.

“ _You_ do,” Vic says, and Jaime giggles.

“I feel-“ Leon says, but before he tells anyone what he feels he’s out, toppling backwards onto the floor with a loud snore. Everyone simply stares at him, watching him fall.

“Tired?” Tony supplies, and apparently that’s the funniest thing because Phil can’t stop laughing, tears of mirth falling form his eyes.

“I’m tired,” Mike complains, once they’ve all calmed down enough to form moderately coherent sentences.

“You _all_ get tired when you’re drunk,” Vic says. “That’s why we came here.”

“So you had somewhere to crash?” Phil asks.

“No, so I had some company. They drop like flies,” Vic says, directing this at Phil.

“Can’t hold their booze?” Phil asks, his vision starting to get sharper again. His mind is clearing too – just what he doesn’t want – and he’s starting to feel a little more sober.

“Nope,” Vic says, and Phil thinks the same is happening to him, because the drunken glaze in his eyes is slowly fading. “That’s…that’s why I never drink with them. Weaklings.” Phil huffs out a laugh, noting that Mike’s passed out too now.

“Guys,” Tony says. “I’m feeling a little-“

“Me too,” Jaime says, with a huge yawn.

“Is it always at the same time?” Phil asks Vic. Vic nods.

“Just as lightweight as each other,” he grumbles, using the bottle of beer he’s got in his hand to push Jaime’s snoring head off his leg.

“Sucks,” Phil says, but he can’t deny that it’s nice to have company in his drunkenness. It definitely beats being drunk at home alone every weekend (and most weekdays).

“I wish Jaime wasn’t this bad,” Vic says sadly, nudging Jaime’s head with his beer bottle again. Phil frowns.

“Why don’t you date him?” he asks.

“I’m scared,” Vic admits. “This way, I can still protect myself from getting hurt. At least a little bit. I- I’m not very good at dealing with hurt.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asks. Vic sighs, casting his eyes down at the beer bottle in his hands, as if it will save him from himself, as if he’s wishing it would. Phil supposes that’s what he _is_ wishing; that’s what Phil wishes, whenever he picks up the bottle, tries to numb himself. If he’s numb, he won’t be himself.

“I mean…” Vic says, but he trails off, still avoiding Phil’s gaze. Phil shuffles a little closer, sitting cross-legged directly opposite Vic.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me.”

“Can I…can I…” Vic doesn’t seem to be able to get the words out of his mouth. “Can I…show you, instead?” Phil’s confused, but nods; what does Vic mean?

Vic looks nervously at the others to make sure they’re all actually sleeping – judging from the orchestra of snores, they definitely are – and starts rolling up his sleeve.

There, on his arm, are countless little scars, riddling his skin, laddered all the way up his arm.

“Don’t hate me,” Vic whispers. “It’s how I cope.”

“I don’t hate you,” Phil says slowly, still gazing at the scars. Something’s twisting inside him, something unpleasant that’s making him want to kiss the scars, hug Vic, do _something_ to help. But he doesn’t; he doesn’t move a muscle.

“I’m sorry,” Vic says, snatching his arm away and rolling his sleeve back down. “Pretend…pretend you didn’t see that.” But Phil can’t pretend that.

“I can’t,” Phil says honestly. “Does…does Jaime know? Mike?” Vic shakes his head.

“No one,” he says. “They’d hate me. They’d think I was weak. I’m meant to be there for them, y’know? I’m _their_ rock. If they see that I’m weak, they won’t lean on me anymore. And then _they’ll_ be weak.”

“You need someone too,” Phil points out.

“Not as much as they need me,” Vic says, and that makes Phil’s heart break. That, that Vic doesn’t value himself enough to owe himself at least a _little_ care and love, that hurts.

“I’ll be your rock,” Phil says decidedly. “I’ll be there for you, Vic. You’re not alone, okay?”

And something - he doesn’t know what - but something makes him kiss Vic, square on the lips, soft warmth against soft warmth. And Vic doesn’t pull away.  
-  
The morning is punctuated by moans and groans and the occasional ‘I’m gonna-‘ before someone dashes to Phil’s ensuite bathroom to throw up. Phil’s so fucking glad his room is as far away from everyone else’s as it’s possible to be – there’s no way Maggie would have been able to ignore five strange boys in the house if they had been within earshot of any other room. Phil’s pretty sure his parents installed a soundproof door when they were having this place built; his door definitely feels a lot sturdier than all the others around the house.

Phil goes down and gets them all some snacks for breakfast, anything he can get into his arms – biscuits, crisps, salami, bread, anything – and heads back upstairs, throwing it all on the floor for everyone to take their pick from. He’s lucky he doesn’t get hungover anymore; and apparently, Vic’s the same, dishing out water half-sympathetically to his friends and brother (although the latter is far more reluctant and much more gleeful). He throws a smile at Vic, who grins shyly back – does he remember their conversation last night? Phil remembers it clear as day, remembers the scars, remembers the kiss. He wonders whether Vic’s thinking about it too.

“I’m going to go down to the shop and buy some more paracetamol,” Phil announces at about midday. There’s empty Ibuprofen and Nurofen packets strewn all over his carpet, and none left for a moaning Leon to take.

“Can I have Calpol instead?” Tony asks weakly. Phil grins.

“Sure thing, Captain,” he says. “Vic, look after them whilst I’m gone? I won’t be long.” Vic looks at him and smiles, and something about that look says he remembers last night too. Phil throws him another smile and hurries out, rushing down the stairs and not even bothering to put a proper coat on before leaving the house.

He ambles down the street with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. Vic self-harms; that much is clear, but why? What’s the reason for it? And he said – in a roundabout way, yes – that he wants to date Jaime, but he’s scared. And then Phil had _kissed him_. Why had he kissed Vic? He doesn’t even _like_ Vic, really. He doesn’t know how he feels about Vic, but Tony said Vic and Jaime had been flirting for years. So why hadn’t Vic pulled away? If he wants Jaime…but doesn’t that mean Phil’s essentially leading Vic on?

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by a soft chuckle.

“Phil,” a velvety voice says, and Phil looks up to see Dan standing there. He’s unflanked this time – for once – and the way the sun is shining down on him makes his skin look almost golden. Phil wonders idly if Vic’s skin would look golden in this light.

“What do you want?” Phil says. He’s not in the mood to talk to Dan, especially not in broad daylight on a street where _anyone_ could see them. And by anyone he means Chris and PJ.

“A word,” Dan says nonchalantly.

“You’ve had three. Daily limit is up. Move; I’m getting stuff for my friends,” Phil says. Dan grins.

“You want to watch that sass,” Dan says. “It’s going to get you in serious trouble someday.”

“Yeah?” Phil says, challenging. “I’ll wait for that day to come. Right now, I’d like you to _fucking move_.” He’s not in the mood for Dan’s bullshit games.

“How about you say the magic word?” Dan says, inching closer. Phil stands his ground; Dan doesn’t scare him.

He does, however, do weird things to Phil’s heartbeat.

“Avada Kedavra?” Phil offers, and Dan chuckles again.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he says.

“On the contrary. I _know_ I’m funny,” Phil says, crossing his arms. “Can I go now?”

“Oh, Phil,” Dan says, shaking his head. “I don’t think you understand how this works.”

“Oh?” Phil says. “Please teach me, O Master of all.” He realises as soon as the words leave his mouth that that was the wrong thing to say, _so wrong_ , because suddenly there’s a strong hand on the small of his back and another on his waist and he’s being pulled right up against Dan, so close that Phil can feel every inch of his body beneath his own.

“Let go of me!” Phil says, writhing in Dan’s grasp, but Dan’s hold is stronger than Phil’s will to struggle.

“Are you sure you want that?” Dan whispers, his breath ghosting over the shell of Phil’s ear. Phil shivers involuntarily. That’s an…odd feeling. Odd, but as much as he wants to say it’s unpleasant, he can’t deny it turns him on a little bit. But only because it’s sensitive; not because it’s Dan. Never because it’s Dan.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil spits, wrenching himself out of Dan’s grasp. Dan lets him go – Phil’s pretty sure Dan would have been able to anchor him there if he wanted to – with that infuriating smirk on his face.

“Just what I thought,” he says, and just like Wednesday, he’s gone without another word.

Phil doesn’t know what to think anymore. On the one hand, he’s got Dan, acting in _the_ weirdest way of anyone he’s ever known, ever. And on the other hand, he’s got Vic, safe, secure, probably hopelessly in love with Jaime Vic. And he doesn’t want to hurt Vic.

But he doesn’t want to hurt himself either. And that’s an odd feeling, because he hasn’t cared about himself in so long he’s almost forgotten what it feels like to _be_ him.

He forgets the Ibuprofen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Is The Nemesis Chapter

Phil’s friends don’t leave on Saturday. Maggie gets a huge shock when she calls Phil down to lunch and instead gets a group of six traipsing tiredly downstairs, pale and hungover.

“Sorry,” Phil says apologetically, but Maggie waves it away, bustling around fetching more plates and glasses. Vic, Jaime, Mike, Leon and Tony look slightly overwhelmed by Phil’s house, now that they’re sober – they hang around awkwardly, looking like they don’t want to besmirch the air by breathing too much.

“Sit down,” Maggie says bossily, but not unkindly, and all the boys take a chair uneasily. “Phil, dear, would you fetch your brother?”

“Where is he?” Phil asks.

“Cinema room,” she says, and Tony inhales excitedly. Phil nods and walks off, ambling to the cinema room and finding James still in his pyjamas, watching some shitty CBBC programme on TV. Phil clicks it off, much to James’ protest – he still stands by the fact that children’s TV was much better in his day.

“Come to dinner,” Phil coaxes, and James shakes his head.

“Your _friends_ are here,” he mumbles. “They’re scary.”

“They’re lovely, I promise,” Phil says. “Come on, don’t you want to eat?”

“But-“

“But nothing, James, come on,” Phil says, hauling James off the sofa and carrying him, kicking and screaming, into the dining room. When he puts James down, relatively out of breath (James isn’t as small as he used to be), James crosses his arms and glowers at him.

“I can _walk_ ,” he says petulantly. Phil grins, ruffling James’ hair.

“Come on, sit down,” he says, doing just that himself, next to Vic. Vic grins at him, and Phil half-accidentally brushes his arm against Vic’s, causing a slight red tint to appear in his tanned cheeks. Phil hides his smile by turning to look at James again, who’s looking at Vic and Phil shrewdly, as if he knows what’s going on.

Phil wishes he was nine again. Things were so much easier, so much _clearer_ when he was nine. He’s learnt so much shit as he’s grown up that everything is meddling with the shit he actually _needs_.

“This is James,” Phil says, and James waves at everyone shyly.

“I like your pyjamas,” says Tony. James beams at him.

“You like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” he asks.

“We all do,” Jaime says. James turns back to Phil.

“I like your friends,” he says decisively, and everyone laughs.   
-  
Everyone ends up staying the night again, this time with actual mattresses laid out by Maggie.

(“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming last night?” Maggie asks agitatedly, plumping up a few pillows.

“I didn’t know!” Phil says. “They arrived at about three in the morning.” Maggie looks at him disapprovingly, but says nothing else – she knows what he does, and she lets him get on with it. That’s one of the many reasons he loves her.)

“Man, can we move in?” Jaime asks, laying down on his mattress. “This is comfy as fuck.”

“And your little brother is _super cute_ ,” Tony says enthusiastically. Tony’s been so taken with James that they spent three hours playing videogames in the cinema room, discussing comics and various other things. Phil’s pretty sure they’ve just become best friends.

“In front of other people,” Phil says ruefully, although he can’t deny that James is a wonderful brother most of the time.

“Whatever,” Leon says. “He’s better than mine.”

“That’s ‘cause James isn’t a bully,” Mike says. Leon sighs, staring up at the ceiling from his makeshift bed.

“He never used to be like this,” he says dejectedly. “He used to be…a brother. We used to do stuff together, y’know, watch TV and stuff, go out…now we barely even talk.” He sounds so miserable that Tony shuffles over from his bed and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s okay. He’s just going through that dumb I-need-to-be-the-coolest-dickhead -in-school phase that everyone goes through.”

“I want my brother back,” Leon says, and there’s a kind of choked noise that sounds almost like a sob, and Phil, Mike, Vic and Jaime exchange wide-eyes; they don’t know what to do.

Luckily for them, they’re spared from doing anything by Tony, who calms Leon and leads him quietly out of the room. Everyone else remains silent, listening to Tony and Leon talking in hushed voices in the corridor.

“I’m going to turn in, guys,” Jaime says, clearly uncomfortable at eavesdropping. He still looks a bit green, as well; he didn’t eat much at dinner. “I’m still feeling a bit ropey.”

“Me too,” Mike agrees, although his words are half-hidden by a yawn. Phil turns to look at Vic expectantly, wondering whether he too will fall asleep.

“I’m not tired,” Vic says, with a shy smile in Phil’s direction. Phil smiles back involuntarily; Vic’s adorable, that much is undeniable, and pretty fucking gorgeous too, so he can’t _not_ smile back. Plus, it would be rude.

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, waiting for Mike and Jaime’s breathing to even out (or in the case of Mike, turn into raucous snores).

“Thank you,” Vic says, after what feels like forever. His voice penetrates the silence (or, thanks to Mike, relative silence) that has blanketed them, and it sounds odd for some reason. Phil probably needs to get his ears tested.

“For what?” Phil asks. He hasn’t done anything. He didn’t even remember the Ibuprofen, thanks to Dan.

No, not Dan. He doesn’t want to think about Dan. He’s here with his friends, with Vic, and that’s what he should be focusing on. Not some school bully who intrigues him far too much for it to be considered healthy – or normal.

“Being there. Listening. Not…not judging me, or hating me.” Vic shrugs, not meeting Phil’s eyes. Phil’s gaze strays to Vic’s sleeve, just one thin layer of material that covers Vic’s innermost secrets, his conflict and his pain, displayed on his skin, etched into it forever. It’s almost magical what clothes can conceal.

“Of course I wouldn’t judge you or hate you,” Phil says, as if it’s obvious. “That’s not…that’s not right.”

“Lots of people would,” Vic says quietly.

“I doubt it,” Phil says. “Why did you tell me before Jaime?”

“I was drunk,” Vic says. “I do stupid things when I’m drunk.”

“So you regret it?” Phil asks. Vic still doesn’t meet his gaze, and Phil hooks a finger under his chin, lifting it gently so Vic has to look Phil in the eye.

“No,” Vic says. “And that’s scary. It’s not my secret anymore. It’s…I’m not in control.”

“You weren’t in control in the first place,” Phil says softly. “It was.”

“I know,” Vic says miserably.

Phil’s about to reply when he hears a noise, something clattering against his window. He frowns; who the fuck is throwing stones at his window? Unless a bird has just splattered against it.

“Hang on,” he says, getting up and stepping over Jaime and Mike’s sleeping forms to reach the window, wrenching the curtains open to see a figure standing in the dark outside.

“Who is it?” Vic asks, hugging his legs to his chest protectively. Phil’s heart breaks a little; Vic’s so perfect, so adorable, but he doesn’t even know it. Phil would give all he had for Vic to see himself through Phil’s eyes – or even better, Jaime’s.

“I can’t tell,” Phil says. “I’d better go down, anyway; I don’t want my window to shatter.” He’s only half-telling the truth when he says he can’t tell – he can’t, but he has a pretty good idea who it could be.

His worst fears are confirmed when he makes his way downstairs (past Tony still comforting a sobbing Leon) and pulls the front door open, a dark figure standing outside wearing an annoying, stupid smirk.

“What do you want?” Phil demands hotly. The nerve Dan has, turning up at his house in the small hours of the morning and throwing fucking _stones_ at his window. How did Dan even know it’s his window? What was he planning on doing if it was James’, or Maggie’s, or some random room that no one uses?

“You,” Dan says simply, and Phil scowls, but steps outside and shuts the door.

“Stop being a dick,” he says. “Go back home. I don’t want you here.”

“You came outside,” Dan points out. “You could have shut the door in my face. You could have stayed inside, nice and cosy with Vic.” Phil blanches, and Dan’s eyes glint dangerously.

“Nothing’s going on between Vic and me,” Phil says. Dan raises an eyebrow, barely visible under the weak orange glow the streetlight is providing, but still there.

“Of course,” he says, stringing out the words, and Phil feels guiltier than he ever has before.

What is he doing? He’s leading Vic on, of course he is, and he _knows_ he is, so why isn’t he stopping? He knows Vic wants Jaime more, _Vic_ knows he wants Jaime more, so what are they doing? Jaime will get hurt if he finds out, yet for some reason Phil doesn’t want to stop. Phil…there’s something about Vic. Phil’s not just _attracted_ to him, he’s…well. He doesn’t really know. But it feels deeper than just attraction.

Then there are the ridiculous thoughts, the ones that bubble up when he’s at his drunkest and most emotionally vulnerable, the ones that tell him that yeah, maybe he finds Dan annoying, maybe he hates Dan’s guts, but there is an underlying attraction. Dan is pretty hot, after all, even if he is the biggest prick Phil’s ever had the displeasure of coming across.

The thoughts that are _fucking wrong_ , Phil thinks, shoving that unpleasant reminder out of his mind.

“Oh,” Dan says softly. “Conflicted, are we?”

“About what?” Phil says irritably. “Can you leave me alone? Go home. I have better things to be doing.”

“Like Vic Fuentes?” Phil flushes. “I thought so.”

“I’m not- Vic and me- we-“

“Save it,” Dan says, sounding bored. “I came for something else, anyway.”

“What, then, if not to taunt me?” Phil asks.

“I already told you,” Dan says. “You.”

“What do you want with me?” Phil asks tiredly. He isn’t in the mood to argue anymore. Thinking about Vic has just made him feel sick and guilty and empty and he doesn’t really care what Dan wants anymore.

“Come with me,” Dan says, and Phil rolls his eyes but follows – albeit reluctantly – as Dan leads him out of the driveway and into the street bathed in harsh yellow and orange lights.

“Look up,” Dan says. “What do you see?”

“The sky,” Phil says. “The moon. Streetlights. What is this, your twisted idea of fun?”

“Streetlights,” Dan says, choosing to ignore Phil’s last comment. “The moon.”

“I just said that,” Phil says. “What’s all this about? Are you drunk?”

“Shut up,” Dan says idly. Phil scowls.

“I’m standing in the middle of a road with you, staring at some streetlights and the fucking moon,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Can you see the stars?” Dan says.

“Of course not,” Phil says. “The streetlights are drowning them out.”

“Exactly,” Dan says.

“Exactly what?” Phil says.

“Sometimes, what seems brighter and closer and easier isn’t as perfect as what’s harder to get, but more beautiful. Sometimes, looking only at the bright thing obscures the beautiful thing. Sometimes, looking at the streetlights obscures the stars.” And now that Phil’s squinting, now that he can see it properly, he can actually make out some stars, glimmering distantly in the jet black blanket of the sky.

He turns to say something to Dan – he’s not really sure what, just _something_ – but Dan’s gone. There’s no trace that he was ever there, just Phil staring up at the night sky on his own, staring past the streetlights and looking at the stars twinkling faintly in the distance.

He doesn’t know why Dan told him that, doesn’t know what made Dan decide to share that with him, doesn’t know why Dan wanted to _help_ him, and doesn’t even know exactly what he’s intending for Phil to do with this information, but suddenly Phil knows what he has to do.

He traipses back inside, leaving the door open (he figures no one is going to break and enter at this time of night in this obscure corner of the neighbourhood) and quickly rushes up the stairs to his room. Vic’s still sitting on the floor, but now Tony and Leon are lying down as well, snoring lightly. Vic turns as Phil clicks the door open, and Phil beckons him out wordlessly, leading him downstairs and outside to the same spot Dan took him.

“Look up,” he instructs, and Vic does so. “What can you see?”

“Not much,” Vic says. “Orange and yellow glow from the streetlights. The moon, kind of. The sky.”

“Can you see the stars?” Vic shakes his head slowly.

“There’s too much light from the streetlights for that.”

“Exactly. The streetlights are drowning them out. The streetlights, brighter, closer, easier, are obscuring the stars, further away and harder to reach but much more beautiful, burn brighter and for longer. Sometimes our choices are like the streetlights and the stars, Vic. Sometimes what might seem easier and glows brighter obstructs our view of what’s beautiful, what’s going to last and what burns brighter.” Phil pauses. “Can you see the stars now?” Vic nods slowly, tearing his gaze away to look at Phil.

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” Phil says, and Vic nods again.

“I know. That doesn’t mean the streetlights aren’t helpful, though. They guide you home better than the stars do, shine brighter in your everyday life.”

“It’s not saying you can’t have both,” Phil says. “Just that you should choose the one you deserve.”

“I’m sorry,” Vic whispers, and Phil shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says, and Vic takes a hesitant step forwards, pressing their lips together for the second and last time. Phil relishes it, kissing back and letting his tongue tangle with Vic’s, wrapping his arms around Vic’s neck as Vic wraps his around Phil’s waist.

And there, under the streetlights and the stars, Phil feels his heart break for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Has Been The Nemesis Chapter


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday flies by way far too fast for Phil’s liking, and all too soon it’s time for school again, time for lessons (or rather, time for skipping lessons), time for his friends and time for Dan.

Fuck. Dan. Phil has been ignoring all thoughts of him that crop up in his mind (of which there are far too many far too often). There are so many fucking questions he needs answered.

He literally rolls out of bed on Monday morning, lying face down on the carpet for several minutes whilst he gathers the energy to haul himself up and away to get dressed.

And _that_ is why he’s late every day.

His phone bleeps once and he reaches for it blearily, which basically consists of him moving his hand around until it clasps around something phone-shaped. He lifts it and sees he has a new text from Vic and a missed call from Vic. And an email from Oxfam, the title of which is ‘Ants and taxes’. He’s tempted to open it just because of the title. Maybe they’re starting to tax ants. That would be an interesting move.

Instead, however, he throws his phone down on his bed whilst he throws his clothes on haphazardly and brushes his hair once, attempting to make himself look more presentable by brushing his fringe across his face. The more of his face that is covered, the better he looks, right? He might as well just become a professional yeti.

He takes the stairs two at a time downstairs, attempting to wake himself up a little more by forcing himself to do exercise. His body protests, however, and by the time he reaches the bottom he barely has enough energy to drag himself into the kitchen and flop down at the table opposite his ever-cheery younger brother.

“How are you this happy in the morning?” Phil grumbles, letting his head fall onto the table. It’s much more comfortable this way.

“Because I have something to get up for,” James says simply, and Phil frowns into the glass of the table, steaming it up a little with his breath.

“So do I,” Phil says, looking at his watch through the foggy glass of the table. “School.” He hasn’t even had time to eat breakfast before he’s hauling himself up from the table again and heaving himself out of the door.

Oh, fuck, he’s got to fucking jump fences and streams and shit.

Phil groans, closing his eyes and turning his head up to the weak autumn sun. He doesn’t want this.   
-  
He makes it to school on time for the first time in approximately three years. He’s not just on time, he’s five minutes early, so he slopes up the path to school as slowly as he possibly can, James’ words echoing in his head.

James is right. Phil has nothing to get up for in the mornings. Sure, he has his friends – he has Vic – but that’s not enough, not enough to make him want to get up. He’s not sure anything ever will be, if he’s honest, but that’s mainly because having to get up at seven thirty is quite possibly the work of Satan.

“Phil!” Leon yells, beckoning him over as he finally saunters into the building, choosing to walk around to the back and the grassy area his little gang (he can’t keep calling them his friends. That makes him sound so…weird. He can’t call them all by name either, because there are too many (too many friends; as if he ever thought he’d be saying that). Maybe he should take Mike up on the Sexican offer) usually stay in when they bunk off. Phil’s planning on actually going to some lessons today – he’s got his books and everything.

Phil nods at them as he makes his way over, flopping down on the grass. Missing the first two lessons can’t hurt, right?

“We’re just discussing what we’re going to do this weekend,” Mike informs him. “Sexican meet-up.”

“We’re not the bloody Sexicans,” half the group moans.

“We’ve now got two non-Mexicans anyway,”  Tony points out.

“Sexicasians,” Mike persists. Leon frowns.

“That sounds like sexy occasions,” he says. Mike shrugs.

“You never know,” he says, and Jaime throws some grass at him.

“No one’s going to be having sexy occasions with you,” he says.

“Says you, Virgin Boy,” Mike shoots back, and Jaime glowers at him.

“It’s harder for me,” he complains. “That’s unfair.”

“You’re just jealous that I can pull,” Mike says dismissively, throwing the grass right back at Jaime.

“Can we be the Virgin Boys?” Jaime says, with a snigger. Tony snorts.

“Yeah, come on, let’s do it,” he says. “Mike, you got that gang you so desperately wanted.”

“I am _not_ being associated with the Virgin Boys!” Mike exclaims. “People will start thinking _I’m_ a-“

“None of us believe you when you say you’re not, anyway,” Vic says, and Mike lunges for his brother.

“Break it up, girls,” Tony says bossily, but Leon shakes his head with a grin at the two brothers struggling on the ground.

“Tenner on Mike,” he offers.

“Nah, Vic’s got agility on his side,” Jaime says thoughtfully. “Mike’s like a lumbering, constipated elephant.”

“When was the last time you saw a constipated elephant?” Phil wants to know. Jaime nods at the scuffle going on in front of them.

“Right there,” he says.

“- _off me_ ,” they hear Vic yell, the rest of his sentence muffled by his brother.

“Never,” Mike hisses, but Vic’s had enough because suddenly Mike’s the one on his back, and Vic’s on top of him, pinning his wrists to the floor and sitting back on his thighs so he can’t struggle.

“I forgot that Vic works out,” Leon curses under his breath, handing a grinning Jaime a tenner. Mike yelps and shouts for mercy, and Vic slaps him once in the face before rolling off him and almost onto Jaime.

“You gained me a tenner, bro,” Jaime says. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Vic says, but Phil’s still enraptured by his arms. He’s not really sure why; they’re nothing special, really, just a little more muscular than normal. He always wears clothes that enhance his body, though; Phil’s stared at Vic’s legs in his skinny jeans enough times for him have learnt that lesson by now. Vic notices him staring and blushes a little, throwing him a furtive glance as Phil snaps his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He can’t deny that he’s still attracted to Vic, no matter what’s best for Vic.

“I’m going to go,” he mumbles, standing up abruptly and almost taking Leon’s eye out with his bag. Leon makes a noise of disgruntlement but before anyone can say anything to try and convince him to stay or ask him why he’s going, Phil walks away. He can feel Vic’s eyes on him, though, so he turns into the building as soon as he can to get away from the gaze that’s burning a hole through him.

He still doesn’t know his way around the school, so he wanders the empty corridors for a while, until the bell goes and students start spilling out of classrooms into the corridors he’s walking up and down aimlessly.

“Hey,” he asks a passing Year Seven, since he figures she won’t punch him in the face. She looks more frightened that he’s going to punch _her_ in the face, so he reckons he’s safe. “Where’s X1?” She points down the corridor and runs away as fast as she can, so Phil simply walks down the corridor, asking more people as he goes (mostly Year Sevens. He hopes he doesn’t come across as a paedophile). He makes his way there eventually, ten minutes too late for Music, where his lesson has already begun.

“You must be Phil,” his teacher (Mr Dowsett, according to his timetable) says. “We’re just doing some composition this lesson, because I can’t be bothered to teach.” He grins at Phil, and Phil grins back. He likes him.

“Do you have any guitars?” Phil asks. Mr Dowsett nods, pointing at a cupboard in the corner.

“Should be some in there,” he says. “Watch out, most have five strings. I think Vic and Tony took the last ones with six strings.” Phil’s heart sinks. Even here, he can’t get away from Vic.

He gets a guitar out of the cupboard – a nice Strat that looks like it’s seen better days but still feels comfortable and homely in his hands – and ambles off towards the corridor leading off from the classroom, where all the practice rooms seem to be (either that or there’s a very loud, very tuneless band going on).

No practice room is empty – Phil soon spots Vic, Jaime, Tony and Mike in one and ducks past the door, hoping none of them saw him – and Phil’s despairing when he reaches the end of the corridor. If this next practice room isn’t free, he’s going to have to join the Sexicans (he’s not going to admit he just used that seriously) in theirs.

Phil’s heart jumps when he peers in through the window, thinking it’s free as he can’t see anyone, but just as he starts pushing open the door he spots Dan sitting in a corner.

 _Dan_. Of fucking course.

It’s too late now, though, because he’s already started opening the door and he’ll look cowardly if he doesn’t step inside. With a heavy heart (and a heavier sigh), he does so.

“What do you want?” Dan says coldly, and Phil’s a little taken aback. Okay, he wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome, but Dan’s not been…like this for the past few days. He’s been different; not better, but…different.

“To see whether this practice room was free,” Phil says. Dan narrows his eyes.

“Well, it’s fucking not. Fuck off.”

“What’s got into you?” Phil snaps.

“What’s got into _you_?” Dan snaps right back. “If you don’t leave right now, you’ll get a fist to the face.”

“You’re _so_ fucking demented,” Phil mutters, but he still doesn’t leave. The sassy side of him is telling him to stay, to face Dan, to take what he’s going to give him.

“And you’re a fucking _bitch_ ,” Dan hisses, setting down the guitar he’d been strumming and standing up, face level with Phil’s, eyes blazing. “Didn’t I tell you to leave? This room’s taken.”

“I can see that,” Phil fires back, but he still stands his ground. He’s going to get himself killed.

“I’m warning you,” Dan hisses, and it makes something jolt in Phil’s veins.

“Yeah?” Phil counters. “Go on then.” He drops the guitar, spreading his palms and making himself vulnerable.

He regrets it about three milliseconds later when he’s being slammed into the wall by Dan, held by his collar as Dan’s fiery brown eyes bore into his own.

“You want to fucking try it?” Dan whispers dangerously, and Phil feels the same thrill run through him. It’s scaring him; what the fuck is wrong with him? “Yeah, I thought so. Not as cocky now, are you?” He releases his grip on Phil’s shirt, and Phil rubs the back of his neck where it was digging in.

He doesn’t say anything to Dan, just picks up his guitar and makes to leave.

“Phil,” Dan says, and Phil turns around automatically at the sound of his name, forgetting what Dan’s just done to him.

He’s not met with a fist to the face, though, or a fist to the stomach. It’s much, much worse than that.

Dan’s lips are crashing onto his, his tongue tangling with Phil’s, and Phil’s _letting him_ , Phil’s actually _kissing back_ –

He breaks away when he realises that, shoving Dan with all his might. Dan doesn’t even stumble (Phil does), simply leaning back with an unfathomable look in his eyes.

Neither of them say anything, staring at each other for a good few moments, before Phil leaves, heart hammering against his chest.

He doesn’t want Dan. His body is telling him he doesn’t want Dan, his mind is telling him he doesn’t want Dan, his heart is telling him he doesn’t want Dan, so _what is going on_? Why did he kiss Dan back? What was Dan doing, kissing him in the first place?

Vic’s standing outside the practice room, face white.

“I saw,” he says, and Phil blanches too.

“No, it’s not- it’s not what it looked like-“ he says, and Vic shakes his head.

“You kissed him.”

“He kissed me! I shoved him away!” He had kissed Dan, though, for a few seconds. For a few seconds, he’d loved that contact.

“You kissed him.” Vic’s voice is trembling, like he’s going to cry. But they broke it off last night; what’s he doing? He’s meant to be going for Jaime, going for his stars instead of his streetlight.

“I-“

“Did you want it?” Phil thinks about it. Did he?

 _No_ , comes the resounding answer from every fibre of his body. No, he didn’t.

“No,” he says honestly, looking Vic directly in the eye. Vic stares at him for a few moments before slumping, relaxing, clearly believing Phil.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know I shouldn’t…I know we…Jaime…but…” he trails off, unable to articulate what he’s feeling, but Phil knows. Phil understands.

“Stars,” Phil reminds him gently, stepping forwards and brushing a stray strand of hair out of his warm brown eyes.

“What if I want the streetlight?” Vic says quietly. Phil shakes his head.

“Stars,” he repeats. It breaks his heart, and he doesn’t really know why, because he hasn’t even known Vic that long, but Vic deserves Jaime. Vic deserves more than Phil. He only wants Phil because Phil’s all he can see.

At opposite ends of the corridor, two brown-eyed boys watch Phil and Vic embrace, Phil stroking Vic’s hair to soothe him. At opposite ends of the corridor, two brown-eyed boys turn away, not wanting to see any more.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Phil notices that is out of place is when Vic doesn’t look at him the next day. In fact, he doesn’t look at anyone, ripping out grass and depositing it back on the ground it had come from. Phil frowns, but says nothing – he’s probably just stressed about schoolwork or family or something. He pushes it out of his mind.

The next thing Phil notices is that Jaime doesn’t sit next to Vic like he usually does. That confuses him a little bit, but Vic seems to be anticipating this. Maybe they’ve had an argument, a lover’s tiff – Phil’ll ask Vic later.

The third thing Phil notices is Vic’s going to lessons.

That shouldn’t be out of place, but it is. Vic’s always saying how he’d rather be happy than have good grades, as getting good grades and going to lessons doesn’t make him happy. He values his personal health more than stupid GCSEs, and privately Phil agrees. He still drags himself along to a couple of lessons, though – enough for him to get at least As in all his GCSEs – but he doesn’t enjoy them, much like Vic. So why is Vic going to lessons?

Lunch is subdued. Mike, Tony and Leon seem to have noticed something’s up too, exchanging worried glances every three seconds and making unenthusiastic small talk to try and engage Jaime and Vic. Jaime’s better (or worse?) than Vic, talking animatedly when he’s spoken to but lapsing into contemplative, depressive silence when he’s not. It sends shivers down Phil’s spine, how easily people can lie.

Vic mumbles something incoherent as he stands up abruptly when the bell signifying the last lesson rings, getting away from the group as soon as he can. Mike and Tony exchange perplexed looks, whereas Leon stares after him. Jaime doesn’t look up from the ground.

Phil stands up just as abruptly, and without explanation marches after Vic. He needs to know what’s going on.

He has longer legs so he catches up with Vic easily enough, spinning him around to face Phil.

“What’s up?” Phil asks. Vic won’t look him in the eye.  

“Nothing,” he says, trying to get out of Phil’s grip, but Phil holds him there.

“No, Vic, don’t bullshit me,” he sighs. “You’ve barely said a word to me all day – to any of us.”

“I’m just not feeling well,” Vic mumbles, and Phil sighs again.

“Vic,” he says softly, but he loosens his grip on Vic’s shoulders and Vic shakes him off, practically sprinting away. Phil stares at his retreating figure helplessly. What has he done?  
-  
Phil’s actually turned up to music early, thanks to Vic’s little stunt, so he gets a practice room at the end of the corridor; the one Dan was in yesterday. He feels relatively good about that – Mr Dowsett knows he’s in here, too, so Dan can’t throw him out. Mr Dowsett’s the only teacher Phil’s seen so far that doesn’t take Dan’s shit.

Everything’s running smoothly until halfway through the lesson, when the door to the practice room pushes open. Phil doesn’t look up from his guitar, assuming it’s just Mr Dowsett checking up on him again, but then he hears the door close and snaps his head up. Mr Dowsett doesn’t shut the door.

It’s not Mr Dowsett.

Dan’s standing there, arms folded, glowering at Phil.

“This is my practice room,” he says quietly, dangerously.  

“Too bad I was here first, isn’t it?” Phil shoots back.

“Get. Out.”

“Make. Me.” And suddenly Phil’s guitar is being knocked out of his hands and he’s being shoved roughly against the wall, pinned by Dan’s body. It’s far too close for comfort, and Phil struggles to keep his breathing under control as he fights back against Dan. He can feel Dan’s body warmth seeping into him through their thin clothes, his muscular arms pinning Phil’s wrists to the wall…

“ _Get the fuck off me_ ,” Phil hisses angrily, writhing under Dan’s grasp. Dan chuckles, holding Phil’s wrists tighter, so tight it nearly cuts the circulation off.

“Make me,” he says teasingly, eyes ablaze, but Phil’s not in the mood for his games anymore. He grits his teeth and with one final push manages to dislodge himself from his place against the wall, using Dan’s look of utter surprise to his advantage as he spins them around, catching Dan’s wrists with his hands and pinning them against the wall.

“I think I just did,” Phil whispers with a smirk. It feels good to one-up Dan for once.

“Amateur move, Phil,” Dan says, and Phil shrugs, letting him go. Clearly, he is an amateur, because as soon as he lets Dan go Dan’s back to pinning him to the wall. It’s like a fucking power struggle, Phil thinks as he fights against Dan’s grasp again.

“What are you getting out of this?” he snarls at Dan. Dan grins at him, not even breaking a sweat as he keeps Phil held against the wall.

“At worst, a little bit of fun. At best, a practice room and you to fuck off,” Dan shrugs. Phil shakes his wrist hard enough to get one of Dan’s hands off himself, catching Dan’s wrist in his hand and clenching it tight.

“Even?” he offers. Dan narrows his eyes with a scowl.

“Never,” he hisses, trying to move his hand to catch Phil’s wrist. Phil flicks Dan’s hand away deftly, almost casually.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes of school left,” Phil reasons. Dan’s eyes flick to the clock and then back to Phil’s face, and he releases his grip on Phil’s wrists. Phil pulls them away, nursing the red marks on the skin. Dan steps back, allowing Phil to get away from the wall and Dan’s body.

“Fuck, you’re so bipo-“ is all Phil manages to mutter before Dan’s shoving him against the wall again, but this time pinning him there with his hips, with his lips, with his hands roaming every inch of Phil’s body. His fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of Phil’s hips and Phil moans accidentally, opening his mouth for Dan to enter. He tries to push Dan off him but Dan’s stronger, and after a while Phil gives up trying to struggle and simply goes with it, kissing Dan back. Maybe he’ll leave Phil alone if Phil appeases him like this.

Dan groans lowly into the kiss and something snaps in Phil, makes Phil gasp and grind his hips against Dan’s and that’s when he feels that Dan’s hard, hard underneath Phil’s touch, and wrenches himself away from Dan - as much as he can, anyway - gazing at him, at those fiery brown eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, his voice wondrous. “What are you?”

“Dan Howell,” Dan says, just as softly. “Bad news.”

Phil stares at Dan a while longer, thoughts rushing through his head, jumbled together and not making sense. One is prevalent, though, one that he really does not want or need tumbling through his mind and coursing through his veins; he wants to kiss Dan again.

Almost without realising, Phil darts forwards and presses their lips together again. Dan moans, and that, _that_ turns Phil on. As soon as he realises that, though, he breaks away.

Neither of them say anything. Without a word, Dan’s gone.

 _What the fuck_.   
-  
The bell has gone already; five minutes ago, in fact, and Phil’s still packing up in a daze. He doesn’t know what’s happened, doesn’t know what the fuck was going through his mind when he kissed Dan back, let alone when he insinuated the kiss. He’s shaken up and, quite frankly, a little bit scared. Dan’s not what he needs, not what he wants, right?

The answer to the latter is inconclusive.

There’s a tentative knock on the practice room door, and Phil jerks his head up, afraid it might be Dan back to fuck with his emotions.

It’s not; it’s Jaime.

Phil beckons him in, surprised – they haven’t really spoken much as an exclusive pair, only in group conversations. He likes Jaime well enough, though.

“Can…can we talk?” Jaime looks almost nervous, chewing on his lip, and Phil nods, surprised. What’s going on?

“Sure,” he says, packing the last of his things into his bag and slinging it to the side. “What’s up?”

“It…it’s about Vic,” Jaime sighs, carding a hand through his fluffy hair. Phil’s heart drops, and he nods, trying to ignore the sudden feelings of guilt that are crashing over him. He’s not even _together_ with Vic – he established that clearly enough yesterday – so why is he feeling bad? He’s allowed to kiss other people, allowed to kiss Dan.

“What about Vic?” Phil asks. Jaime bites his lip again, as if he’s conflicted about telling Phil.

“Do you want to sit down? It’s kind of…kind of a long story,” he says, and Phil nods, drawing up a chair and gesturing for Jaime to do the same.

“Vic and I have known each other for years,” Jaime says. “I figured out I was gay when I started having feelings towards Vic about four or five years ago. According to Tony, Vic returns – or returned - those feelings, and for years we had a flirtatious friendship going on. Never anything more, mind, but I was content with that, with knowing that he was kind of mine, in that way. Then you showed up.” Phil can’t look Jaime in the eyes. He feels absolutely terrible. He _knew_ it would be like that, yet he still let Vic and him happen – still _insinuated_ things between them. He was the one who initiated their first kiss, after all.

“I don’t blame you, really – Vic was always going to get bored, always going to move on from me. I’m not much, really, not funny, not clever, not good-looking…nothing that you are. It was inevitable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” Phil tries to apologise, say _something_ , but Jaime waves his apology away. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, it’s mine, for not being good enough. I’ve never been good enough for anyone, so I don’t know why it would be any different for Vic. Anyway, I saw you two in the corridor yesterday. That’s when I really realised there was something going on, something more than I could explain – or Vic, apparently. We had a fight last night. He called me, asking if I wanted to come over, and he sounded kind of subdued. Naturally, I went over, and he told me something had happened with you. I told him what I’d seen yesterday, and he explained that nothing had been going on – you’d just been comforting him, apparently. I asked why he’d needed comforting and that’s when he closed up, asking me to leave. I got upset – understandably, I think, because Vic’s been my best friend for _years_ and suddenly he’s telling you things and not me. We had a bit of a yelling match and then I left, and we haven’t spoken since.” He finishes with a shrug. “I just thought you ought to know what’s up with him.”

Phil’s heart is aching, breaking at the sight of this insecure, honest, decent boy in front of him. Phil’s hurt him through his own selfish behaviour, leading Vic on and hurting him too. He’s broken a friendship, broken a potential relationship, all because he was too self-centred to stop what he was doing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, when he finds his voice again. Jaime makes to speak again, but Phil presses on. “I’ve got some explaining of my own to do, I think. Just listen.” There’s a moment where Phil thinks Jaime’s going to say something, or maybe even leave, but then he nods tightly.

“Vic told me something very private the night all of you slept over. He also explained to me why he didn’t want to tell you; because you mean more to him than I do, and he was less afraid of losing me than he was of losing you. I did something stupid after he told me that – I kissed him. I’m not sure why; maybe I was trying to make himself feel better, or maybe I was trying to make _myself_ feel better, but it happened. We flirted a lot the next day, as you probably noticed, although it wasn’t intentional. When all of you went to sleep, we spoke for a few minutes but then Dan turned up outside.” Jaime tenses at the mention of Dan’s name. Phil frowns but ploughs on – no one else has flinched like that at merely the sound of his name.

“I spoke to Dan. I didn’t know what he wanted, but he didn’t do anything. He didn’t even say anything rude. He just wanted to talk. He took me into the street, and told me to look up, asked me what I saw. I told him what I thought was obvious – the streetlights, and the moon. He pointed out that I could see the streetlights, not the stars – the streetlights, which were brighter, closer, easier to get. He told me that they drowned out the stars. I looked harder, past the streetlights and realised that he was right. I could see the stars, faintly in the distance, yeah, but they were still there. And I realised what I had to do when I turned around to speak to Dan and he had gone. So I got Vic out and explained the same thing to him – the streetlights drowned out the beauty of the stars – and he knew. He realised what it means – I was his streetlight, and you were his stars. We kissed once more, under the streetlights and the stars, and I thought that was the end of that. But yesterday I…” he sighs, breaking off.

“I had a fight with Dan – he didn’t hurt me, don’t worry – but for some reason he kissed me at the end of it.” He omits the fact Dan did the same today. Except today he liked it. “Vic saw us kissing, and it upset him. I don’t exactly know why, but I know it did. I reminded him that he had to look for the stars, not the streetlight, and he…he said, ‘What if I want the streetlight?’. I said no, stars. That’s when we hugged. He does…he does want you more, Jaime, he’s just conflicted. And all that confusion, all the confusion, that was my fault. And I’m…God, I’m so sorry Jaime.”

“Well,” Jaime says. “I guess we’re both in our own states of confusion, then.” Phil laughs hollowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Except yours is my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Jaime says. “It was inevitable. I guess I’m just lucky it happened with someone who set him straight.”

“It was Dan,” he says. “Dan pointed it out.”

And suddenly he realises.

Streetlights and stars has a double meaning.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day is completely uneventful. Except for the fact that Phil sees neither Vic nor Dan all day. He can’t say he’s not pleased about the latter – relieved would probably be a better word to describe it – but the former worries him a little. Vic always shows up to school, even if he doesn’t go to any lessons (which is more often than not). Mike doesn’t know where he is, either, saying he didn’t see him when he left the house that morning, thinking he’d just got up late, which worries Phil even more. He can’t, however, leave school early, so he speaks when he’s spoken to and does nothing but worry all day. He goes to all his lessons, for once not having Music, just to avoid talking to people. Working puts things out of his mind, too, thoughts that get progressively more manic and frantic and outlandish as the day wears on.

Eventually, however, it’s time for him to go home, racing out of Chemistry thankfully as soon as the bell rings, ignoring Mr Matharoo’s yells for him to return to the classroom immediately.

First stop – Vic’s house.

He pulls out the scrap piece of paper that Mike had scribbled a terrible map to their house from school on – he’s going to Tony’s after school with Leon, so he can’t take Phil to Vic’s – and stares at it intently. He’s either meant to be going left, or underground. He guesses the former, as the latter would be relatively difficult, and runs off down the street, knocking younger children over as he goes. He doesn’t even stop to apologise (or listen to their angry yells), skidding to a halt at the end of the road as he tries to figure out what the _fuck_ Mike has drawn here. He’d said it wasn’t far, right, two roads or something like that, closer than Phil’s house, so Phil takes the left and speedwalks down the road, looking for number fifty three. If he’s wrong, he can just run down the other road or call Mike angrily, ask him why he can’t draw for shit. He takes Fine Art, for God’s sake, he should be able to draw something as simple as a _map_.

It takes him up until forty-six to realise that he’s actually on the wrong side of the road, and when he crosses he nearly gets hit by a car, jumping out of the way just in time as an angry fist shakes at him out of the window. Phil flips the car off defiantly, hopping onto the curb and running down to number fifty-three. All or nothing, right?

He rings the doorbell. Nobody answers. He tries again, and gets the same reaction.

Phil retreats down the path that leads back to the main road, digging his phone out of his pocket and dialling Mike’s number, praying he picks up. Thankfully, he does, on the second ring.

“Yo,” he says. “Did you find it okay?”

“I don’t know, I turned left at the end of the road, was that right?” Phil frets.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “Is he not answering?”

“No,” Phil says. “He _will_ be in, right?”

“I don’t know,” Mike says, and even he has an edge of panic to his voice. “Go round the side, to the right of the house, there’s a fencey-door thing there you can get over into the garden.”

“Wait, I’ll put the phone in my pocket whilst I do that,” Phil says, and Mike makes a noise of agreement. He shoves his phone in his pocket and runs around to the right of the house. The fencey-door looks easy enough to climb, so he chucks his bag over and gets a decent foothold, vaulting himself over and landing painfully on his feet, almost breaking his ankles.

Fucking _ow_.

“Okay,” he says breathlessly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and nursing his painful ankle as he stands up properly. “Where now?”

“Try the back door, it’s not usually locked,” Mike says. Phil limps over to the patio doors, pulling on the handle and then shaking his head with a sigh.

“Locked,” he says.

“Okay,” Mike says, and that’s definitely panic in his voice. “We _never_ lock those doors. Shit. There’s a key under a flowerpot, like, the second one to the right or something…” Phil doesn’t even say anything, just lifts the second flowerpot to the right, finding a rusted key underneath.

“Got it,” he says, slipping it into the lock and letting himself in. The pain in his ankle is beginning to subside, so he tentatively puts a little bit more weight on it. When the pain doesn’t increase, he steps on it properly, letting himself into the house and dropping the key on the floor without a second thought. He needs to find Vic; what if he’s in trouble? His mind flits back to the scars on Vic’s arms, and he breathes in sharply. _Shit_.

“Mike, where’s Vic’s room?” he says.

“Upstairs, second from the left,” Mike says.

But Phil doesn’t even have to go to Vic’s bedroom, because he spots a piece of paper on the table in Vic’s feminine handwriting.

_At the bridge._

That’s all it says, no more, no less. At the bridge. What bridge? What’s he doing at the bridge?

“He’s left a note that says ‘at the bridge’,” Phil says, bewildered. Mike curses lowly.

“Right,” he says. “Go over to the front window, look out of it.” Phil obeys, walking over to the large bay window at the front of the room.  

“Yeah?” he says. There’s no bridge here.

“Can you see the end of the road, if you look to the right?” If he cranes his head and practically breaks his neck, then yes, he can. Phil voices this to Mike, who says this sounds about right.

“Alright. Go to the end of the road, and then go to the right. Follow the dirt track until you reach the bridge. Go quick; I don’t know what he’s planning. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, just shoves the phone in his pocket, not even bothering to hang up as he runs out of the front door and all the way up the street (which is, incidentally, stupidly long and seems to get longer the further he runs, although that might just be due to his high levels of unfitness), turning right at the end like Mike had said. Sure enough, there’s a dirt track leading off into a small, dense patch of trees. Phil can see some kind of light filtering through at the end, though, and he runs all the way through the trees too.

It opens out onto some kind of clearing, a half-dirt-track half-road thing that happens to be a stone bridge. Vic’s standing there, standing- _standing on top of the fucking barrier_.

“Vic!” Phil yells, but Vic doesn’t even turn around. His hair is blowing around him in the wind, although most of it is held in by his beanie, and he looks almost angelic.

“Vic,” Phil says again, drawing nearer. “Vic, get down.”

“It’s so peaceful,” Vic says dreamily, as if Phil hadn’t even spoken. “It’s like…like all my troubles and worries are gone.”

“Get down,” Phil repeats, trying not to lose his mind. What if Vic jumps? Phil can’t see how far down it is, which is worrying in itself because it means it’s far enough for Vic to die. What if Phil can’t dissuade Vic from jumping?

“I’m not here to jump,” Vic says. “I’m here to think.”

“Why does that require you standing there?” Phil says. “Can’t you get down and think? You’re making me nervous.”

“Try it,” Vic suggests. “Come on, get up.” He turns around, offering Phil his hand. Phil stands there, hesitantly. He doesn’t want to get up. What if he falls? He doesn’t want to die. And if he falls and he’s holding Vic’s hand, he’ll be responsible for Vic dying too.

“No,” he says. “Get down.”

“I’m not getting down,” Vic says. “Get up.”

“Vic,” Phil says.

“Come on, give it a shot,” Vic says. “What have you got to lose?”

“ _My life_?!” Phil says.

“I won’t let you fall,” Vic says, brown eyes earnest. “I promise.” Phil hesitates a moment longer before answering – a moment too long, because that’s all it takes for his irrational thought to kick in.

 _Do it,_ it whispers. _It’ll be fun_.

Slowly, Phil makes his way towards Vic, taking his outstretched hand and heaving himself onto the weathered stone of the barrier, staring out at the green trees beyond.

Vic’s right. This is the most relaxed Phil’s ever been in his life. It really does feel like all his troubles are gone. He can hear the rushing water beneath him, the crickets in the grassy woodland surrounding them, Vic’s breathing next to him. He can feel the wind teasing his hair, his body, the sun shining down on them, making him turn his face into it, closing his eyes, relishing in this sudden tranquillity. He’s still holding Vic’s hand, but he doesn’t let go.

For the first time in a long time, he feels free.   
-  
Mike shows up approximately two minutes later, yelling at them both manically to get down. Vic opens his eyes and turns to look at Phil, rolling his eyes fondly before stepping down from the bridge, taking Phil with him. Mike yells at them both for a while, mainly at Vic about how _worried sick_ he was and how he was going to _matarte_ or something.

He walks Vic home angrily, still muttering things about _te voy a estrangular_ , leaving Phil to find his own way home.

He manages, it, somehow, weaving through street after street until he finds somewhere that looks vaguely familiar, realising it’s his street but the opposite end. His street is stupidly long, as well, so he has to trudge about about a light-year until he reaches his house. Great.

He ambles down the road, kicking anything in his path, with his hands in his pockets since he doesn’t have his schoolbag. Whatever; like he uses it anyway. Vic or Mike will bring it in tomorrow.

Phil’s just meandering down the street, daydreaming aimlessly, when a door clicks open.

“Phil,” a voice says, and Phil squints into the dusk ahead to see who it is. It looks like Leon, so he approaches with a spring in his step…until he realises it’s not Leon. It’s Dan.

“What do you want?” Phil says, and his voice sounds cold, even to himself. It takes him by surprise.

“To talk,” Dan says, clicking the door shut behind him again. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a grey hoodie that clings to his body in all the right places, and it takes all of Phil’s willpower to not let his eyes roam Dan’s body hungrily.

He shakes that thought out of his head, choosing to replace it with a scowl in Dan’s direction.

“Alright, talk,” he says, crossing his arms defiantly. Dan sighs, shaking his head with a small, almost fond smile. Phil wants to kiss it right off his lips. And then punch him for being so infuriating and such a _dick_.

“Can we go somewhere a little more…private?” Dan asks.

“Where do you suggest?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs.

“Bridge?” Phil rolls his eyes – he’s just walked _from_ there, and now he has to walk all the way back, and it’s getting _dark_ – but nods. Dan walks down his driveway and up the path with Phil, side by side, neither of them saying a word or looking at the other, not even sideways glances, until they reach the bridge. It’s dark by now, dark enough for stars to be shining in the woods that are far enough away from any light pollution to show the stars without anything obscuring them.  

“Okay,” Phil says, spinning around to face Dan. “Talk.”

“Sit,” Dan offers, gesturing at the bridge. Phil sighs, but, unafraid now that he’s stood on there, swings his legs over the side and lets them dangle into the darkness. He can’t even see the water beneath them, staring intently as Dan sits down next to him.

“You spoke to Jaime,” Dan says after a moment. Phil says nothing. “Did you speak to Vic?” Still, Phil says nothing. Dan sighs.

“You know they’re better for each other, Phil,” he says softly. “You know you were his streetlight.”

“He was mine, too,” Phil says quietly. “You let it have a double meaning.” Phil can’t see Dan, but he can practically hear his wry smile.

“Yeah,” Dan admits. “I did.” They’re silent for a while again, and then Dan speaks.

“It’s pretty here,” he remarks.

“I can’t see much of it,” Phil says. “It’s pretty fucking dark.”

“Exactly,” Dan says. “Doesn’t the darkness strike you as…beautiful?”

“Not really,” Phil says. “It’s dark.”

“It’s beautiful because you don’t know what’s there,” Dan says.

“I’d count that as pretty damn terrifying. There could be a murderer behind us right now,” Phil says.

“And tell me honestly that you would mind if you died right now.” Phil opens his mouth – _of course I’d fucking mind, I don’t want to die, are you out of your mind?_ – but nothing comes out. Because he wouldn’t mind.

And that is the most terrifying thought he’s ever had.

“I thought as much,” Dan says, smile audible in his voice. Phil scowls, leading them to lapse into silence for a few more moments.

“Look up.” Phil obeys. “What can you see?”

“The stars,” Phil says. “What can _you_ see?”

“The beginning,” Dan says. “The end. Births and deaths, right above us, right in front of our eyes, beauty in both.”

“No streetlights here,” Phil mutters.

“Exactly,” Dan says. “Just the stars. Just the beginning, just the end. Just me, just you. Just us.”

Dan’s hand finds his in the darkness, their fingers tangling together as they sit there, gazing up at the night sky with the water rushing underneath them.

Just them.


	9. Chapter 9

Phil walks in from school on a Thursday evening, elated from sitting with his friends all day (and Vic and Jaime actually _talking_ again), to find a suitcase at the foot of the stairs. He stops abruptly; this can only mean one thing.

 _Daddy’s home_.

He wonders whether he can make it upstairs without his father noticing, but it’s too late, because he slammed the front door really loudly when he came in and now Maggie’s standing in front of him.

“Your father wants to speak to you,” she says, and something about her tone makes Phil nervous. He’s never got on with his father, but they tend to ignore each other rather than talk, because it simply causes arguments which upset James and Phil’s mother. Much as Phil and his father dislike each other, they each love other members of the family, and would do anything to see them happy.

Phil nods, dropping his bag on the floor and slinking into the living room as quietly as he can. His father is standing there, still in his business suit, facing the fireplace almost contemplatively. Phil knows better, though. He knows he’s just standing there for added drama, making Phil wait with bated breath until he turns around, upping the tension and suspense.

He does just that, making Phil wait in silence for a few moments before turning around, hands behind his back.

“Philip,” he says, and Phil tries not to wince. His father’s the only one who didn’t take to the nickname ‘Phil’ (“We named him Philip for a reason!” he scolds everyone around the house. “Don’t butcher the name.”). “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

 _Yeah, ‘cause you haven’t bothered to be here,_ Phil thinks spitefully, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to aggravate his father – he just wants to get out of there, to be honest – and he prefers it when his father isn’t around.

“How’s school going?” his father asks mildly, almost casually, but Phil can see the challenge in his eyes.

“Fine,” Phil says, but it comes out too defensive.

“Really?” his father says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not what I hear.”

“From whom?” Phil asks.

“Some teachers seem to think you don’t…turn up to lessons,” his father replies.

“I’m still getting A*s everywhere,” Phil retorts. “Why would I have to attend if I’m getting great marks?”

“Because that’s what school is about,” his father says. “Hard work and making friends. Not that you’d know anything about either, of course.” Phil bites back an angry growl, clenching his fists.

“I don’t _need_ to work hard,” he says through gritted teeth. “And anyway, I _do_ have friends.” The eyebrow is raised again.

“I’d like to meet them,” Phil’s father says. “Drunk, emo kids, are they?”

“So what if they are?” Phil says. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m your father.”

“So why don’t you start acting like one?” Phil spits. There’s silence as Phil’s father eyes his son, looks him up and down with an expression of half-disgust and half-amusement on his face.

“Go to your room,” he says quietly. “I don’t know where we went wrong with you.”

“Not loving me, for a start,” Phil mutters, turning to leave.

“How could I love something like _you_?” his father yells. “All you’ve brought is disappointment, shame and failure to this family.”

“Oh, so you’d rather I was someone like you?” Phil shouts back, rounding on his father. “You’d rather I _didn’t_ get good grades? You’d rather I bullied my way to the top of a law firm? You’d rather I treated no one with a shred of respect and didn’t care a jot about my family? You know what, I’m happier as I am. I’d choose myself over you _any day_ , and so would anyone else.”

“I’d rather you were a decent human being!” Phil’s father roars.

“You know _nothing_ about being a decent human being!” Phil screams at his father. “Fuck you. You’re not a father, not a husband, not a _man_.” Before his father can retort, Phil stalks out of the room and straight back out of the door, walking past a frightened-looking Maggie comforting an even more frightened-looking James. Phil’s so angry he doesn’t even stop to comfort James, just walks out and down the street and down another and another and another until it’s dark and somehow he’s found himself at the bridge.

He gets up on the bridge, standing with his arms spread out as if he’s going to jump, and he screams into the night.   
-  
Phil doesn’t go home that night.

He wanders the streets until the early hours of the morning, half-debating going to Vic’s when he realises that he’s probably going to catch pneumonia roaming around like this. He doesn’t want to wake Vic up at a stupid hour like this, though, and he doesn’t want to give either Vic or Jaime the wrong ideas, so he keeps his distance.

He almost _wants_ someone to find him, wants a fight, but as this town is a shithole full of obedient teenagers and old people no one else is out on the streets. He ends up walking back up his road again, not planning on going home but not wanting to stay out much longer – all he’s wearing is a thin hoodie that’s barely keeping him warm right now.

Phil flops down on the curb, stretching his legs out into the road and tipping his head back to squint at the brightly lit orange sky. He doesn’t want to fucking be here anymore. He’s still simmering; his father really brings out the worst in him. He’d almost started to be happy before _he_ showed up again. And he doesn’t even have his mum here to defend him.

“What are you doing out at three in the morning?” a voice says, and Phil jerks his head back down to see Dan standing in front of him.

“Life,” Phil says. “Things getting to me.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Dan says, sitting down next to Phil.

“Not really,” Phil says. “It’s just my dad, nothing big.” The word _dad_ feels weird in his mouth, as if it doesn’t belong there.

“Okay,” Dan says. They sit in silence for a moment, before Phil shivers involuntarily as the wind curls itself around his body.

“You should come inside,” Dan says gently. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out much longer.”

“I’ve probably already got one,” Phil says apathetically.

“Come on,” Dan says, and Phil just can’t be bothered to fight about it. He stands up, following Dan down the road and into the warm house. Dan turns around and presses a finger to his lips as he tiptoes up the stairs, gesturing for Phil to do the same. Phil shuts the front door as quietly as he can and follows the path Dan’s taking, zigzagging across steps and missing some out completely, presumably to avoid creaking. He pushes open a door at the top of the stairs and down a slight corridor, ushering Phil inside and clicking the door shut silently behind them.

“So,” he says after a moment, slightly uncomfortably, as Phil gazes around the room.  It feels like he’s intruding on a different Dan, a Dan that no one _but_ Dan knows. There are childhood memories everywhere, souvenirs and memorabilia and photographs and drawings and collectible things and so much stuff that feels like it’s revealing a Dan no one else knows about, a warm, laughing, friendly Dan that’s long gone now.

“You confuse me, you know,” Phil says suddenly, rounding on Dan. Dan lowers his gaze.

“I know,” he says, and he sounds even more uncomfortable than ever. “I confuse myself.”

“Why do you do it?” Phil demands. “Why do you make me, then break me? Why do you get my hopes up and then act like you don’t know me the next day? Dammit, I’d be able to deal with it if you either hated me or loved me, but you can’t seem to fucking decide, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.” He doesn’t know why the words are suddenly pouring out of his lips, rolling off his tongue, but they are, and he can’t seem to stop them. He doesn’t really _want_ to stop them, either; he wants to know what the fuck is up with Dan.

“I don’t know,” Dan says, and he sounds half-wrecked and half-desperate. Phil’s not entirely sure what to make of that. He was expecting an explanation of dares, or simply to toy with him – it sounds like something Dan would do; he definitely wouldn’t put it past him.

“So why do it?” Phil asks. “Why can’t you make your mind up?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dan says.

“It could be, if you let it,” Phil says. Dan doesn’t look him in the eye, leaning against his windowsill and staring at the ground.

“I can’t, Phil,” he whispers. “There’s so much at stake. I can’t lose what I’ve built up. I can’t risk my reputation. I can’t…I don’t even know what I am, what you are, what _we_ are. I don’t know what’s going on. You confuse the hell out of me too.”

“Why?” Phil asks. “Am I the one playing games, tossing you aside whenever I get bored then roping you back in when I want a bit of fun? Am I the one treating you like a bitch at school and kissing you under the stars away from everyone else’s eyes?”

“No,” Dan says. “Emotionally. I’ve never…I don’t know. I’ve never been this invested in someone before, whether it’s because I want to punch you in the face or kiss you. I’ve never felt such passionate things towards someone, whether it’s hatred or…or…not hatred. I’ve never _cared_ about someone like I care about you. Fuck, Phil, what are you doing to me? I’m not even _gay_.”

“You kissed me,” Phil points out. “Three times.”

“ _I know_ ,” Dan says, and he sounds pained. “You don’t fucking understand, Phil. You don’t know what it’s like, to be straight and sure of your life and have everything laid out for you, and then some fucking emo kid show up and screw everything up. You don’t understand what it’s like to be so confused about everything in your fucking life, try and push away the thing that’s causing the confusion only to find that you _need_ that thing in your life because it’s causing more confusion and disturbances to be away from it. I’m not gay. I can’t be gay, and I’m- I’m not. I’m just not. But I want you. So what the _fuck_ does that mean?”

“It means you need to stop putting what other people want for you and what the world thinks is best before what makes you happy,” Phil says.

“I was happy!” Dan practically yells before covering his mouth, forgetting that he has to be quiet. “I was fucking happy, before you came along.”

“Well, sorry for screwing up your perfect fucking life,” Phil practically spits. Dan grits his teeth.

“And now I want to fucking kiss you, you bastard,” he whispers.

“I’m not stopping you,” Phil says, and Dan gazes at him for approximately three milliseconds before he’s launching himself across the room, knocking Phil backwards onto the bed that’s stood in the middle, kissing Phil roughly as they tangle together. Dan breaks away, straddling Phil, to grin down at him, before moving his lips and tongue to Phil’s neck. Phil groans lowly, and Dan pulls back and presses a finger to his lips, reminding him to be quiet.

That’s going to be fucking easy, isn’t it?

Dan reattaches his lips to Phil’s neck, grinding against him as he does so. It’s like he knows all of Phil’s weak spots, and Phil can feel himself getting hard under Dan’s touch. Dan seems to be able to feel it too, grinning wickedly into his neck as he grinds harder into Phil. Phil has to bite his tongue to stop himself gasping Dan’s name.

“No,” he says, pushing Dan away. He’s scared; this is going too fast. He’s not ready for this yet, not with Dan, not until he knows where he stands with Dan. Hell, he doesn’t even know where Dan stands with _him_. Dan rolls off the bed, but Phil catches his wrist just in time and pulls him back so he’s back on top of Phil, straddling him once again.

“No?” Dan says.

“Not like this,” Phil whispers. Dan takes a moment to consider, but then nods, leaning down to press his lips to Phil’s in a (comparatively) chaste kiss.

“Get some sleep,” Dan murmurs against Phil’s lips. Phil nods (as much as he can, anyway), and Dan rolls off him, lying down next to him and turning his head so he’s facing Phil, both of them grinning half-shyly at each other. Phil wonders if Dan’ll still be there when he wakes up.

He wonders whether he’ll want Dan to be there.


	10. Chapter 10

When Phil wakes up the next morning, it’s to a pair of brown eyes peering at him curiously.

“Hello,” the owner of the eyes says, and Phil blinks, opening his eyes again to see Leon standing above him. “What are you doing in my house? More to the point, what are you doing in my brother’s room?”

“Long story,” Phil mutters, struggling upwards and supporting himself on his elbows, rubbing his eyes blearily. “Where’s Dan?”

“Dunno,” Leon shrugs. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Phil says, not wanting to impose. “What time is it?”

“Almost time for school,” Leon says. “Wanna get your stuff before we go?”

“No,” Phil says. His dad will still be home – and most likely be up; he probably has another plane to catch, another country to fuck off to. Good riddance.

“Cool,” Leon nods. “Come on, then.”

“It’s like, eight o’clock,” Phil moans.

“It takes like, half an hour to walk there,” Leon says, throwing him an odd look.

“It takes me five,” Phil mutters.

“Well, not all of us have private jets,” Leon says, rolling his eyes.

“Where do you think I’d keep a private jet?” Phil snorts, rolling off the bed. “I cut through other people’s gardens and shit.” Leon stares at him for a moment before grinning.

“You’re a genius,” he says, unshouldering his schoolbag and flopping down on the bed next to Phil for another twenty blissful minutes of freedom.  
-  
Phil doesn’t see Dan all day, much as he looks out for him. He goes to Music, but Dan’s not there. Leon just shrugs it off – he’s probably off with Chris and PJ, he says – but Phil still finds himself checking corridors and classrooms almost absent-mindedly for Dan.

“Are you okay?” Mike says, when Phil zones out once again, gaze following someone who looks a little like Dan as they cross the grass.

“What? Oh, uh, yeah,” Phil says unconvincingly, snapping himself out of the trance-like state he’s in. Mike throws him another curious look, but says no more of it. Vic, however, frowns at him, and Phil knows he’s in for a grilling later. Great. Why can’t he be a convincing liar? Of all the skills he had to _not_ get, it had to be one of the most valuable.

“Anyway, what’s happening tonight?” Tony says, drawing attention away from Phil, which he’s thankful for.

“I’m free,” Vic offers, and the rest of the group murmur and nod in turn. “Right, so where?”

“Phil’s place is the only place big enough,” Leon says, directing a pleading glance in Phil’s direction.

“My dad might still be home…” Phil says, trailing off. Everyone looks so disappointed that Phil sighs, reconsidering. “Alright, fuck him, you can come. Bring your own alcohol, though.”

His dad can suck _dick_.  
-  
Everyone’s at Phil’s house, crowded into his bedroom, the stench of alcohol permeating the air and intoxicating everyone even more.

“I wanna go to…to…” Mike frowns, pouting a little as he tries to think of the word. His face brightens as he manages to extract it from his alcohol-befuddled brain. “Park!”

“There…there’s no _park_ h-here, Mike,” Tony hiccups.

“Aw,” Mike says, and he looks so dejected that Phil’s drunken heart aches a little. People always look cuter when they’re drunk. Or maybe it’s when Phil’s drunk; he can’t really tell.

“Phil’s room is nice,” Leon says. “Why do do- you do- wanna you-“ he looks frustrated, unable to finish his sentence because of how drunk he is, settling for another swig from his can of beer instead.

“You guys _suck_ at holding your drink,” Vic slurs, resting his head on a drunken Jaime’s shoulder. “Me- me and Phil are _great_.”

“Great at being _c-cu-_ “ but Mike never finishes his word because he’s out, keeling backwards and snoring loudly into the silence of the room.

“Why do they all pass out at the same time?” Phil asks in wonder as Leon too zones out, followed shortly by Tony and Jaime. “Is- is there something in the drink?”

“Something in their systems,” Vic shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Hmm,” Phil says, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of his bed. “Yeah.” They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Vic speaks.

“You and Dan?” he asks. Phil closes his eyes, not moving from his current position, facing away from Vic. Cowardly, yes, but he’s never denied that he is a coward.

“What about us?” Phil mumbles.

“You…Dan?” Vic asks quietly, sounding half-incredulous and half-hurt. Phil sighs.

“Not my fault,” he says. “Didn’t choose it.”

“But…he’s not even _nice_ ,” Vic says, frustrated. “You could have picked Tony. Or Leon. Or even Mike. But Dan?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “Something…something about him.” He shrugs. “You have Jaime. Why do you care?” he asks softly, almost as an afterthought.

Almost.

“Because I still _care_ about you,” Vic says. “Just because…just because Jaime, doesn’t mean I can’t still want you. Or need you. Fuck, I don’t even know what to do. Why is everything so confusing?” Phil barks out a short, sharp laugh. _Confusing_. Vic knows _nothing_ about confusing.

“You think _that’s_ confusing,” Phil says. “I have that and bipolar Dan. How- how do you think _I_ feel?”

“You _chose_ Dan,” Vic says, and Phil finally lifts his head to look at him.

“I didn’t choose Dan,” he says quietly. “I would never choose that. I wouldn’t- wouldn’t choose that for _anyone_. It hurts to want him. I don’t even know if I want him. I don’t _want_ to want him. I don’t know who to want, what to feel, nothing. I want you, I want Dan, I can’t have you, I don’t want Dan…” he trails off, letting his head hit the bedpost again.

“No,” Vic says soothingly, inching closer to Phil and twining their fingers together, resting their conjoined hands on Phil’s knee. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to do, Vic,” Phil says, but it comes out more choked than he was hoping for.

“Do what your heart is telling you,” Vic murmurs.

“I don’t _know_ what my heart is telling me.”

“Then do what I tell you,” Vic says. “Close enough, right?”

And he’s joking, but Phil thinks he might be right.  
-  
Phil’s starting to get way too good at holding his alcohol, waking up in the morning without the slightest hint of what had gone on the night before. Vic seems to be the same, waking without a complaint of a headache or stomach ache or general sick feeling.

“You _know_ you get like this when you drink whiskey,” Vic scolds his younger brother. “Why’d’you still do it?”

“Why don’t you _stop me_?” Mike moans, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his stomach.

“I’m never drinking again,” Tony groans from the bed next to Mike’s, curled up in a ball and holding his head in his hands as if he’s scared it’ll fall apart otherwise.

“Until tomorrow,” Vic says under his breath, still fussing over Mike.

“Fuck, I can’t remember a _thing_ from last night,” Leon says, struggling to get himself up on his elbows and wincing as a sharp, stabbing pain hits his head, making it throb painfully.

“That’s because you were out for most of it,” Phil says, leaning over from his bed (higher than the others, owing to him actually having a bedframe rather than just a mattress on the floor) and gazing at Leon as condescendingly as he can manage. Leon scowls at him, lying back down and closing his eyes.

“Paracetamol,” Tony moans. Vic throws Phil a look, still nursing his brother – _get some_ – and Phil sighs dramatically, swinging his legs out of bed and almost hitting Leon in the face.

“Hey!” Leon protests, but Phil just steps out of him and ambles out of the door, making his way downstairs.

His path is blocked by his father, though.

“What’s that ruckus coming from your room, Philip?” he asks disapprovingly.

“My friends,” Phil says, trying to edge around his father. His father’s having none of it, however, blocking his way every time he tries to get past.

“Why didn’t I know they were here?” he asks.

“You didn’t bother to ask,” Phil says with a shrug. “I need to buy some paracetamol; can I get past?”

“Paracetamol?” Phil’s father asks with an eyebrow raised suspiciously. “What for?”

“We all got shitfaced last night,” Phil says in a tired voice, ignoring the way his father draws in a sharp breath at the curse word he uses. “Only Vic and I can handle our drink. Unless you want to take this up with mum, I suggest you move.”

“You’re lucky I have to leave now,” Phil’s father says. “Otherwise I’d be having words with your friends.”

“I’ll be sure to let them know what an honour they’ve missed out on,” Phil assures him, ducking under his arm and scarpering down the stairs, not hearing whatever his father yells after him, muffling it with a slam of the front door.

 _Fuck_ , his dad always gets him angry, even when he does _nothing_.

He’s fuming so much that he doesn’t even realise he’s in the shop until he spots a familiar figure in front of him at the counter. He quickly grabs some Nurofen from a nearby shelf and queues up behind him, half-praying Dan will see him and half-praying he’ll leave without a word.

“Thank you,” Dan says to the cashier, spinning around to leave – and coming face to face with Phil. The look of surprise on his face is palpable, and would be funny if Phil wasn’t so _fucking angry_ right now. Phil pushes past him and slams the Nurofen down on the counter. The frightened cashier rings it up for him without even asking him for proof of age – no doubt he thinks Phil in his black hoodie and black skinnies is going to stab him for not letting him have some paracetamol. Idiot.

“Someone’s angry,” Dan says in an amused tone when Phil stomps past him out of the shop.

“Don’t try it,” Phil says warningly. He’s not in the mood for Dan’s games.

“I wasn’t going to,” Dan says innocently, in a tone that suggests that he totally was going to try it. “I just wondered how my little brother’s doing, but that tells me all I need to know.” He nods at the box of Nurofen that Phil’s practically crushing with how hard he’s holding it. He relinquishes his grip a little, relaxing the rest of his tense muscles and slows down enough for Dan to catch up with him.

“Sorry,” Phil says, breathing out a huge sigh to calm himself down. “Yeah, Leon’s shit at handling alcohol.”

“You guys are a bad influence,” Dan says, shaking his head. Phil snorts.

“As if _you_ never got him drunk before,” he says, and Dan remains silent. “Are you seriously telling me that you’ve never given Leon alcohol before? Come off it; he told me you go off drinking with Chris and PJ all the time.”

“I’ve never let him have a drop of alcohol,” Dan says calmly. “I don’t want him to end up like me.” Phil immediately feels guilty. He’s been the one providing Leon with a way to drink.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry, I didn’t realise.” Dan waves his apology away as they start down the road again.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he says dismissively. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions now. I’m not gonna deny him what he wants.” They continue in silence for a while, drawing nearer and nearer to Phil’s house until they’re right outside. Phil turns to face Dan, biting his lip as he considers what he’s going to say next.

“You can…y’know, join us,” he offers. Dan shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’d be welcome with your friends,” he says gently. Phil nods, trying not to look too disappointed – he’s not entirely sure why he thought Dan was going to agree, anyway.

“Okay,” he says, and he makes to turn away, but Dan catches his wrist, spinning him back around to face Dan. Phil gazes at him in confusion for a few seconds, Dan’s eyes searching his own, before Dan presses his lips to Phil’s in a quick, chaste kiss.

“Bye,” he says.

“Bye,” Phil says, dazed. Dan kisses him once more, letting go of his wrist and smiling before turning away and walking back up the road to his house. And that’s when Phil realises - that’s the first time he’s seen Dan genuinely smile.

Tired eyes can hide a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

Phil’s house seems to be the hotspot for people to congregate. In fact, none of them leave over the weekend, so Phil has to quietly usher them one by one over fences and across gardens and the stream as stealthily as he possibly can to smuggle them into school. He feels like a ninja, until he trips up over his undone laces just before jumping over the stream, stumbling and almost falling face first into the stream, only stopped by a strong hand pulling him out of the way of the water just in time.

“Thanks,” Phil says with a shy grin in Vic’s direction, and Vic smiles back, letting his hand drop from Phil’s bicep and accidentally trailing it across Phil’s forearm in the process.

_Accidentally._

Phil jogs to the rest of the group to hide his blush – fuck, why does Vic still affect him like that, after all the times they’d talked and agreed shit? – and leads them up the driveway to the street their school is on. He can feel Vic’s eyes on him all the way to school, and does nothing to counter it, even throwing a few glances back in his direction and watching a blush spread across Vic’s cheeks, heart aching slightly as he does so.

What does it matter? He can pretend, right?

They’ve got Music first, so all of them but Leon (who complains loudly that everyone’s leaving him) traipses up to the Music block, Phil in front of Vic and behind Jaime. He lets his hands swing a little too low, and he feels Vic’s hands brush against his own as he hurries up to walk at Phil’s side.

“You should come and listen to our piece today,” he says to Phil.

“I don’t even _have_ a piece yet,” Phil complains. “All I’ve spent Music doing is fighting Dan.”

“And kissing him,” Jaime mutters. Phil shoots him a dark look, and Jaime grins at him innocently. Neither of them notice Vic lapsing into unhappy silence.

“What was that?” Tony says.

“Nothing,” Phil says loudly, kicking Jaime before he can open his mouth again.

“You alright?” Mike asks Vic gently, and Vic nods unconvincingly. Phil shoots Jaime another look – _look what you’ve done_ – and Jaime bites his lip, looking guilty. Phil needs to talk to Jaime again. He kind of wants to listen to their song anyway, just to see what he would be able to sound like if he didn’t spend every music lesson arguing with Dan and then being molested by him.

“I’ll come listen to you guys soon,” Phil says as they file off into their practice room. “I’ve just got to check Dan isn’t in my practice room.”

“ _Your_ practice room?” a silky voice says from behind him. Vic, Tony, Mike and Jaime stop in the doorway of their practice room to watch the drama unfold.

“Yes,” Phil responds smoothly. “Mine.”

“At the very least, it’s _ours_ ,” Dan says.

“I don’t particularly want to share anything with you,” Phil says.

“That’s not what it seemed like when you kissed me yesterday,” Dan retorts, and Phil glowers at him as Mike and Tony exchange shocked looks.

“You kissed me too,” Phil says accusingly, but Dan just smiles graciously. It makes Phil want to punch him in the face.

“Mr Dowsett suggested I give you some tips on this piece,” Dan says. “Since I’m an AS-Level student and you’re just GCSE.”

“Like fuck he did,” Phil growls, clenching his fists. “You just want an excuse to get me alone.”

“Who are you to deny me that?” Dan says. “You’re hardly a stranger to it, are you?”

“Not here,” Phil says, throwing a sideways glance at Mike and Tony, and just as Dan opens his mouth to respond Phil manhandles him down the corridor and into their practice room, slamming the door behind them and whirling around to face a smirking Dan. It’s that infuriating smirk again, the one that Dan gets when he’s purposefully being a dick, the one that hides everything he’s actually feeling underneath.

“Afraid your boyfriend’s going to get jealous?” Dan taunts.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Phil says through gritted teeth. God, if he punches Dan, just this once, will it actually be that bad?

“Yet,” Dan says casually, examining his nails nonchalantly as he slides into a chair. Phil hates how every movement he makes is more graceful than the last, as if he were some kind of ballerina swan. Phil feels like a constipated elephant next to him.

“If you’re getting any ideas-“ Dan cuts him off with a laugh.

“Oh, I’m not getting _ideas_ , Phil,” he says. “There are some things you just inherently know.”

“I am never going to date you, Dan,” Phil hisses.

“Okay,” Dan sing-songs in that accepting-yet-disbelieving tone that people use when they know it’ll piss the other person off even more. It does just that, getting Phil’s blood to boiling point. Fuck punching Dan, he’s going to _kill_ Dan.

“I’m going to leave you here,” Phil says, “and when I come back, you’d better either be fucking gone or mute.”

“Off to see your boyfriend?” Dan asks with a smirk, and that’s it, Phil’s had _enough_. He storms up to Dan and slaps him once sharply across the face, his palm making a satisfying _smack_ sound against the smooth skin of Dan’s cheek.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Phil spits, throwing one last look at Dan, who looks as taken-aback and shocked as Phil’s ever seen him, clutching his hand to his face as he watches Phil leave in wonder.

Phil’s still fuming when he gets to Vic, Tony, Jaime and Mike’s practice room, which is unsurprising as it’s only three rooms away. He slams the door open with more force than required, and everyone inside stops what they were doing abruptly to stare at him. Vic looks away as soon as he realises it’s Phil, however, and Phil frowns slightly.

“I slapped Dan,” he announces, and it feels _so good_ to say that. His hand fucking hurts, but in the best way possible.

“You did _fucking what_?” Tony practically shrieks, and Mike jumps in fright at the volume in his ear, swatting at Tony in fright.

“Fucking hell, Tony, keep it down,” he moans, clutching his racing heart dramatically.

“Yeah,” Phil says, edging into the room and closing the door behind him, sitting on a spare chair. “Fuck, it feels so great. I hope I left a mark.”

“Good on you, man,” Jaime says with a grin. “Wanna hear our song now?”

“Er…” Phil says, glancing at the door and then back at the collected group of his friends in front of him. “Sure,” he says eventually, although Vic doesn’t look too pleased about it. Great.

Mike nods and gets behind his drum kit that’s falling apart, Jaime picks up his three-string-bass, Tony sits down on the chair because his guitar has no strap and Vic, the only one with a properly working instrument, moves to stand behind the microphone and strums his guitar nervously.

“Alright,” he says, his voice amplified so it rings in Phil’s ears from every direction of the room, bouncing off the walls. Everyone nods, and Mike clicks his sticks four times.

They launch into the song, everyone looking utterly concentrated on their own instruments. Phil has to admit the look of concentration on Vic’s face is so adorable that as soon as he looks at someone else his eyes stray back to Vic. That’s not his fault, though.

And suddenly after their short introduction, Vic’s moving back up to the microphone and opening his mouth, starting to sing.

“I laid down, I drank the poison then I passed the fuck out, now let me tell you ‘bout the good life.” He’s still not looking at Phil, anywhere _but_ Phil, in fact, and it’s unnerving Phil, who slides his eyes over to Jaime.

“I have a million different kinds of fun, when I’m asleep and in a dream that I’m your only one. Can we create something beautiful, and destroy it? Nobody knows I dream about it, this is my imagination,” Vic sings, and suddenly he’s looking at Phil, straight at Phil, straight _through_ Phil, and Phil knows those lyrics are about him. Phil knows what Vic’s singing about, who Vic’s singing to, why Vic’s singing his heart out as if no one’s going to hear him in any other way.

Vic’s almost finished the second verse by the time Phil shakes himself out of this revelation, so all he hears is ‘treat me right’ before Vic launches into the pre-chorus.

“Oh what a waste of a perfectly good clean wrist,” he says, and his voice is dripping with meaning, the words are oozing with importance, and Phil blanches.

 _Shit_.

“Can we create something beautiful and destroy it?” Vic asks, singing directly at Phil, gazing at him unblinkingly. Phil stares back, not daring to break eye contact. How has nobody else noticed what this song is about? How has _Jaime_ not noticed?

All too soon, the song is over, ending with another guitar riff played by Vic over the rest of the instruments before the instruments stop and Vic’s playing alone, unsupported.

Just like Vic.

“What do you think?” Jaime asks excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Er, yeah,” Phil says, snapping back into reality. “Yeah, it’s really good.” And it is. They sound raw, of course, a little rough around the edges and maybe a little unpracticed, but that’s to be expected. They’re only starting, after all, and it is _really_ fucking good for a starting band. 

“Are you sure?” Tony frowns. “I mean, I know Mike messed up a bit-“

“Fuck you, I did _not_ , okay, _you_ were going too fast-“

“-but was it okay? In all honesty.”

“In all honesty?” Phil says. “Fuck yeah. Man, I’d buy your album.” Jaime grins.

“We’re working on it,” he says.

“I’d better get back to Dan,” Phil mumbles, wanting to get out of the room, out of Vic’s line of vision, away from Vic.

“I’ll come with you. Make sure Dan doesn’t kill you,” Vic offers, and Phil closes his eyes briefly. Dan might not kill him, but being alone with Vic almost certainly will. Especially after that song.

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I slapped him, I can face him.”

“No, no,” Vic insists, and Phil has the feeling he’s not really going to help Phil to his and Dan’s practice room. He wants to talk.

Too bad Phil doesn’t want to.

“I’m fine, seriously,” Phil says, scarpering out of the door before Vic can protest once again. He doesn’t make it down the corridor in time, though, as strong hands grab his biceps from behind and shove him roughly into another, disused practice room.

“Jesus Christ,” Phil mutters, stumbling backwards over some upside down chairs in the relative darkness of the room, the only light coming from the small window on the door. “How fucking fast are you?”

“Fast enough for you,” Vic retorts. “Did you like the song?” Phil laughs sharply. Trick question.

“Is it true?” he asks after a moment. “What you said, about…” he doesn’t want to say it. If he doesn’t say it, it won’t be true, right?

Wrong.

Vic, face shining in the weak light filtering in from the window on the door, says nothing, but rolls the sleeve of his shirt up. There, on his left arm, are five fresh scars, closer to the wrist than any of his others.

“Vic,” Phil whispers, a lump forming in his throat as he brings his hand up to catch the back of Vic’s hand, holding the back of his wrist as he stares at the scars. “Is that…?”

“Because of us,” Vic says, and he sounds ashamed. “I-I’m sorry, you didn’t have to…I shouldn’t have…” He pulls his arm away from Phil’s grasp, pulling the sleeve down over it again. Phil doesn’t say anything, just gazing at the spot Vic’s wrist had just vacated.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers after a moment. Fuck, he should _never_ have kissed Vic in the first place. All it did was cause pain and trouble.

“Don’t be, it was me, I was stupid.”

“It wasn’t,” Phil says. “You…you understand why we…we can’t, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Vic says unhappily. “I…I dunno, I mean…I feel selfish, but…I don’t want you to be with Dan.” Phil bites his lip, looking away. He knows that – he doesn’t want Vic to be with Jaime, really, but it’s what’s best for both of them in the end. Things will only go wrong if Vic and Phil end up…yeah. Phil doesn’t want to let his overactive imagination down that route, because it will only hurt more.

“I know,” Phil says just as unhappily. “Jaime’s better for you, though, Vic.”

“Dan’s not better for you,” Vic insists. “He treats everyone like shit. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“He’s different,” Phil says.

“He didn’t seem different today.”

“He does that,” Phil sighs. It’s hard to explain, _Dan’s_ hard to explain, because suddenly Phil’s starting to feel more than just that general pull towards him, something bigger that’s scaring him and making him want to push it out of his mind. After all, it can’t be there if he chooses not to acknowledge it.

“Was the rest of the song about me as well?” Phil asks after a moment of silence. Vic hesitates, then nods.

“We had something beautiful,” he begins.

“And we destroyed it,” Phil finishes for him, his stomach sinking. _He_ destroyed it. He’s starting to question his own decision.

But here, looking at the perfect wreckage in front of him, he knows he has to do it anyway, whether he regrets it or not. Jaime’s better for Vic, and – God forbid – Dan might actually be better for him.

Vic’s staring at him, not blinking, and Phil leans forward and presses their lips together again. It feels warm, familiar, perfect, yet empty and like there’s something missing.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Phil says, leaning back.

“I don’t want to stop,” Vic whispers, and Phil realises he’s crying. Shit.

“You know we have to,” Phil says heavily, although he doesn’t particularly want to either.

“I don’t want to stop kissing you,” Vic says. “I miss you.”

“I know,” Phil says. He doesn’t want to go behind Jaime’s back – Dan he doesn’t give a shit about – but it _is_ hard to be so close to Vic yet have to stay so far away. “The more we do it, the harder it’ll be to stop, though.”

“I know,” Vic says tearfully, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. Phil’s heart breaks a little more. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Phil says gently. “We just…we need to stop. Or be straight with them. Or both.” Vic sighs, nodding.

“Okay,” he says. “Once more, for luck?” Phil smiles wryly and leans forwards, sliding his arms around Vic’s waist as he kisses him deeply, passionately, for the last time.

He doesn’t want to think about that.

They break apart after a good few minutes, and Vic gazes at Phil a few more moments before turning and walking out of the door. Phil hears the door to Tony, Mike, Vic and Jaime’s practice room open and close and lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t even realise he’d been holding, walking out of the darkened practice room unsteadily. He doesn’t think he’ll make it to his and Dan’s practice room without collapsing or bursting into tears.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because right outside their practice room strong arms catch him, and he collapses onto a warm body, sobbing into the person’s shoulder. He doesn’t even have to ask who it is, doesn’t have to see the person’s face.

“You know you had to,” Dan whispers from above him, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and holding him close to his body, keeping him safe, protected. “You know he’s better with Jaime. You know you’re better with me.”


	12. Chapter 12

The next day sucks. It sucks so much that Phil wants to leave and go back home as soon as he steps into the school grounds. The mere sight of Vic sitting there, picking dejectedly at the grass in front of him, half-breaks his heart and half-makes his stomach sink. Sitting next to him – too close for Phil’s liking, but he pushes that thought out of his mind – is Jaime. It’s slightly comforting, though, knowing that Vic has someone to see him through whatever. Phil admires Jaime, admires his dedication to Vic and his love for Vic – no matter how much Phil loved someone, he’s almost certain he’d never be able to see them with anyone else, whether the attraction was weaker or not. He’s just not that strong.

He still needs to talk to Jaime, he realises with an inward groan. Especially after yesterday. Jaime deserves to know.

“Hey,” Mike greets as he walks over, dodging another fistful of grass from Jaime, who grins up at Phil in welcome. “You going to lessons?”

“A couple, yeah,” Phil says, sitting down. He’s only skipping Chemistry today, actually, and that’s mainly because he doesn’t think he can take another hour of Mr Matharoo droning on and on about nanoscience. “You?”

“Nah,” Tony says. “We went to enough yesterday to last us for the rest of the week.”

“You went to one,” Jaime says.

“ _You_ went to one,” Tony throws back.

“ _I’m_ going to some today,” Jaime counters proudly. Leon snorts.

“Like what?” he says.

“Spanish,” Jaime says.

“That doesn’t count,” Mike says. “You’re fluent.” Jaime’s aim has apparently improved, as Mike’s hit with a faceful of grass.

“Do _you_ go to Spanish?” Jaime says. “No.”

“I took my GCSE already,” Mike points out. “In Year Seven.” Jaime apparently has no counter-argument, so settles for another handful of grass. Mike squeals (in what he later recalls to be a ‘manly noise of disapproval’) and scrambles to his feet, darting behind the tree as Jaime runs after him with fistfuls of grass. It’s like the first time they were together all over again, and that makes Phil’s heart ache a little bit. This is what it was like before he fucked Vic up, before he fucked himself up, before Dan fucked him up, before everything got _fucked_. Phil half-wishes he could turn back time and make it never happen, but simultaneously doesn’t want to lose anything him and Vic had. He’s clearly insane.  

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake_ ,” Leon mutters next to Phil, rolling his eyes, and Phil frowns, squinting in the direction Leon’s glaring.

“What?” Tony asks, turning in the same direction.

“Wait,” Leon says, getting to his feet and marching off angrily. Phil can make out a shape in the distance, but the angle of the sun prevents him from seeing exactly who it is. He guesses it’s Dan, though; who else would Leon speak to so irritably?

The two stand there and seemingly debate for a while, Leon gesticulating wildly as he does so.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks, shielding his eyes against the sun in order to get a better look. Phil copies him, but to no avail; all he can see now is slightly less blurry outlines of people and the back of Leon’s head.

Eventually, however, Leon drops his hands at his side in what seems to be exasperated defeat and marches back over to the group, Mike and Jaime having joined them, panting, asking what’s going on.

“Phil,” he says sharply, and Phil frowns. “Dan wants to talk to you.” Phil stares over at the figure shadowed by the sun – _fuck_ – and gets up wordlessly.

“Do you know what about?” Mike asks worriedly. “He’s not going to hit you, is he? I’ll fuck him up if he does.” Leon laughs humourlessly.

“Oh, hitting Phil is the _last_ thing Dan has on his mind,” he says, and Phil’s not entirely sure what to make of that or just how fucking _angry_ Leon seems, but he leaves and makes his way over to Dan anyway.

“What are you _doing_?” he hisses, when he gets close enough. “Leon’s fucking _pissed_ , man, what did you do?”

“Long story,” Dan says dismissively. “Can I talk to you?”

“Couldn’t you have waited?” Phil moans, rolling his eyes. “Fuck, Dan, everyone thinks you’re here to beat me up.”

“I just wanted to know you’re okay,” Dan says with a half-shy shrug. Phil’s heart softens a little.

“I’m fine,” he says, a little more gently. “You could have asked me that at any time. Did you _have_ to come here now?”

“Well,” Dan says, slightly awkwardly. “You’re with Vic, and Jaime, and I thought…” Yeah, that’s definitely Phil’s heart melting now. Great.

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I promise. I’ll see you later, alright? We have Music last, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, but he sounds kind of distant and detached. He’s staring over Phil’s shoulder at someone in the group, and Phil glances backwards to see it’s Vic.

 _Fucking great_.

“Don’t start shit,” Phil warns. “They’re my friends.”

“Leon’s my _brother_ ,” Dan reminds him.

“Mike’s Vic’s,” Phil says, watching Dan’s eyes slide over to the lankier brother. “Come on, Dan.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “See you in Music.” And just like that, he turns his back on Phil and leaves.

Phil has literally _no idea_ what to make of that conversation.

“What did he want?” Tony demands when Phil ambles back over, hands in his pockets.

“Nothing much,” Phil says, sitting down.

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” Leon bursts out. Everyone turns to stare at him. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Mike asks, utterly confused. Jaime, Vic and Phil share a look. _Shit_.

“That Dan and Phil are like, a _thing_ ,” Leon says, and Mike and Tony inhale sharply.

“What the _fuck_?” Tony says.

“Are you _mental_?” Mike practically shrieks. Jaime and Vic remain silent, not making eye contact with anybody.

“So _they_ knew?” Leon says accusingly. “Vic and Jaime, they knew? Yet you chose not to tell any of us – fuck, Vic, you didn’t tell your _brother_ , and Dan didn’t tell _me_ – you guys are _fucked up_. I thought friendship meant sharing things, you know? As if I would have judged you or hated you.”

“I wasn’t afraid of that!” Phil protests, even though he kind of was. It just…well. For one thing, it seemed more fun as a secret, and for another, it was much better to keep it on the down low for everyone involved; Vic, Jaime, Dan and Phil. “It’s…it goes a lot deeper than that.”

“I’m _sure_ it does,” Leon says sarcastically.

“Jesus, why are you being such a twat about it?” Phil explodes suddenly. “It’s _my_ fucking private life, I can choose what details I want to divulge with whom.”

“Because we’re _friends_! And he’s my _brother_!” Leon yells. “You’d think you’d tell someone if you were fucking their _brother_ , right?”

“Not if their brother is the infamous school bully!” Phil shouts back. “Fuck, I’m done. I don’t want to hear another word about this.” And he stands up, brushes himself down and stomps off without a backwards glance.

He doesn’t give a shit anymore.   
-  
Luckily, Leon’s not in their last subject; Music. Mike and Tony aren’t mad at him; they’re far more understanding, and Mike’s not even mad at Vic for not telling him. Phil’s actually surprised that Vic _didn’t_ tell, but he guesses that would involve spilling the whole story and Vic’s hardly keen for everyone to know that. Vic and Jaime are sympathetic, telling Phil that Leon’s overreacting and that everything will be okay by tomorrow. Phil shrugs them off, though; he doesn’t really care whether Leon’s okay with him by tomorrow. He’s the one who should be forgiving Leon, not the other way around – it’s none of Leon’s business what he gets up to in his private time.

He doesn’t really want to spend time with Dan either, though, especially after today’s debacle, so he hangs around in Vic, Jaime, Mike and Tony’s practice room instead (it really is easier to call them the Sexicans. Can he do that? Refer to them as the Sexicans in his own head? Fuck it; he’s going to). They’re rehearsing yesterday’s song – apparently, they’ve been struggling for a title (so far Mike’s suggested Sexican Song One, Mexicore Band of Sexicans Play Songs #1, Song Where Only The First Line Is About Alcohol So Clearly Only The First Line Matters and You So Do Not Have A Million Girls You Filthy Liar You’re A Flaming Homosexual, all of which have been firmly rejected (mainly by Vic)) – and another song that Vic’s keen for Phil to hear.

“Guys, can we play him The First Punch?” Vic whines, drooping his arms over the microphone stand.

“I don’t _like_ The First Punch,” Tony whines back, pouting. “Can’t we do, like, Stay Away From My Friends?”

“Oh yeah, Tony, let me just grab my invisible piano,” Vic says sarcastically, gesturing around the piano-less room.

“Fuck you,” Tony mutters, but he tunes out of the conversation to fiddle with his guitar instead.

“What about Props?” Mike suggests. Vic frowns.

“Come _on_ ,” he says, gazing at Jaime pleadingly. “First Punch, _please_?”

“Fine,” Jaime sighs. “You’re the only one who likes it, though, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Vic sing-songs with a grin. “Ready?” Everyone nods, and Vic yells a quick countdown (countup? He starts from one, either way), and begins the song.

The song seems unremarkable until the chorus, and Phil’s beginning to wonder why Vic was so adamant that he hear that particular song when everyone else seems to hate it so much, when Vic switches from the faster, erratic beat of the verse into the softer pre-chorus.

“Speak slow now, I don’t want to miss when you cry,” he sings. “Glass over diamond blue eyes. And it’s good enough to make me want to fall in love, so move a little bit closer, hear the sound of your voice. We’re screaming ‘why can’t we just be friends?’ It’s not that easy, but it’s half of the fun to see you throw the first punch.”

Phil’s half-overcome with wonder with how Vic manages to fit hundreds of thousands of words of meaning into a couple of lines of music and half-unsure what Vic’s expecting him to do with this information.

“I’ve got so much to give but, I would kill just to feel less invisible,” Vic sings. “And you’ve got so much to learn about gravity, so live it up, baby, don’t look down.”

Shit. Everything Vic writes has so much fucking meaning behind it that Phil finds it hard to fathom. He can’t put that much meaning in a poem, a novel, _anything_ , and Vic manages it in a few lyrics. It’s highly unfair, yet ridiculously perfect.  Phil wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That’s one of our shittest ones-“ Tony starts as soon as the song is finished, looking bored and a little pissed off that Vic made him play it.

“No,” Phil says, directing it at Tony but staring at Vic. “It…has a lot of meaning.” Vic raises his eyebrows and smirks. _Damn right it does_. Cocky bastard.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Mike exclaims, throwing his sticks onto the snare and making a sound that resonates throughout the entire room.

“It’s not,” Phil says, and it’s not, although he sounds less than reassuring. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Jaime demands, but Phil ignores him, slipping out of the door and hurrying down the corridor to his and Dan’s practice room, hoping Dan’s in there. He is – for once, luck is actually acknowledging Phil’s existence – and Phil walks in, making Dan look up from his guitar in surprise as he does so.

“Hello,” Dan says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tonight.”

“Tonight?” Phil frowns, confused.

“Yeah, you usually have an existential crisis at midnight every couple of days,” Dan says with a grin, and Phil scowls at him, although there’s no heat behind it.

“Fuck you,” he growls playfully. Dan smirks.

“If you insist,” he says graciously, and Phil’s scowl deepens.

“I heard their song,” Dan says after a moment, casually, as if he’s just thinking about it. Phil knows better, though. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Like the lyrics, did you?” Phil says, folding his arms, and Dan smirks.

“Hell yeah,” he says. “It _is_ half of the fun to see you throw the first punch.”

“I did,” Phil points out. “Half the fun is over.”

“Still got half of it left to enjoy then, right?” Dan says, putting his guitar to one side and standing up, walking towards Phil and slipping an arm around his waist. Phil doesn’t even try to stop him, even leaning into his touch a little.

“Better make the most of it,” Phil mumbles, and he watches Dan’s warm brown eyes light up a little as he grins before he leans down to kiss Phil. Phil kisses back right away, pressing against Dan as much as he can. He feels safe in Dan’s arms, secure, protected, and that’s better than he’s felt in years. When he’s in Dan’s arms, he feels like nothing can penetrate their little bubble, like nothing can get in and cause him pain.

 _And it’s good enough to make me want to fall in love_.  


	13. Chapter 13

“Morning,” a familiar yet unfamiliar voice chirps when Phil stumbles downstairs the next morning. He looks up blearily to see his mum sitting at the glass table, tapping away on her BlackBerry with her business clothes on.

“When did _you_ get back?” he asks with a frown.

“Last night,” Phil’s mum says, ignoring James, who’s clattering his cutlery against the table. “You were asleep.”

“For once,” James puts in, and Phil throws him a glare. He knows his mother disapproves of his ‘rebellious’ lifestyle, so he tends not to mention it in front of her.

“I spoke to your father,” she starts, and Phil rolls his eyes, making to leave the room. He doesn’t want or need to hear this. “No, listen to me,” his mother insists, and Phil stops, heaving a dramatic sigh as he turns around to face her.

“What?” he asks.

“Apparently you’ve been drinking a lot.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , Phil, you _know_ that’s not how we want you to live your life.”

“But it’s how _I_ want to live my life,” Phil says. “And you’re not around enough to tell me how to live it, to be honest.” He shrugs; harsh, but true. His parents aren’t really _parents_ , more acquaintances, family friends. He and James are a family. His parents aren’t included in that.

“Phil,” his mum says disapprovingly, but Phil walks out of the room, slinging his bag over his shoulder, stomach grumbling as he walks away from the food. He’s approximately five minutes earlier than he otherwise would be, so he slams the front door and makes to amble down the road to Leon’s house – before he remembers Leon’s mad at him. Great.

Before he can turn back and start heading to school, however, the door of Leon and Dan’s house clicks open, and Leon and Dan walk out. Leon catches sight of Phil and both of them freeze. Dan doesn’t notice either of them, however, walking over to his car and unlocking it with a click of his key.

Phil makes to walk away, bowing his head as he breaks eye contact with Leon, but Leon yells his name as he turns his back.

“Phil!” he shouts, and Phil swivels back around. Leon’s jogging up the street, and Phil tries to mask the surprise on his face.

“Leon?” he says tentatively as Leon draws closer.

“Look, man, I spoke to Dan and I get it, I’m sorry, you didn’t have to tell me anything, I was being stupid, I don’t-“

“It’s fine,” Phil assures him. “Did…did Dan tell you everything?”

“No, he just told me how stupid I was being,” Leon says, carding a hand through his chestnut hair. “Honestly, Phil, I’m surprised you didn’t slap me; I was being _such_ a little cun-“

“It’s _fine_ ,” Phil says. “Trust me.”

“So…so we’re cool, yeah?” Leon looks really worried, biting his lip and frowning. Phil grins at him.

“Yeah,” he says. Leon’s face clears and he grins brightly back at Phil.

“Want a lift?” he says. “You can ride shotgun, man.”

“How gracious of you,” Phil says. Leon smirks.

“Nah,” he says, “I just don’t want to see you giving Dan love-eyes all the time.” Phil glowers at him.

“I do _not_ give _anyone_ love-eyes, let alone _Dan_ ,” he says. Leon raises an eyebrow in the same infuriating way Dan does.

“Sure you don’t,” he says in the same infuriating tone Dan uses, and Phil wants to punch him in the face. He’s disfigured one Howell brother, though, so that’s enough.

For now.  
-  
The ride to school is uneventful; Leon chatters nineteen-to-the-dozen, apparently so relieved that Phil’s not mad at him that he can’t stop talking. Dan slides Phil a few sideways glances, but Phil pretends he doesn’t notice them, sliding a few back himself when he thinks Dan’s not looking.

They all tumble out of the car at school, Leon slamming his door rather enthusiastically as he talks about something Tony and he had been planning to do for Christmas involving dinosaurs and turtles and countless other creatures – Phil’s not entirely sure what he’s talking about, he’s been too busy focusing on the little looks Dan’s been giving him to concentrate on anything else.

“-and then there’s gonna be, like, _seaweed_ , but it’s gonna be _carnivorous_ seaweed – is that a thing? – and it’s gonna be-“

“Hey!” Mike yells as they draw nearer. “Anyone up for saving me from Jaime?”

“Nah,” Phil says. “You must have done _something_ to make him want to chuck shit at you every day.”

“I _didn’t_!” Mike protests, dodging another sausage roll from Jaime, who’s taken to throwing food at him again. “Dammit, Jaim, do you want to fucking _not_?”

“I’m doing fine as it is,” Jaime says with a shit-eating grin, ducking swiftly as Mike clumsily aims a sausage roll back at him. “Come on, Mikey, that’s not how it works; I chuck shit at _you_ , not the other way around.”

“Fuck you,” Mike says, but he sounds amused.

“Hey, I need the toilet,” Phil says. Five faces turn to stare at him blankly.

“Okay,” Vic says. “Go.”

“Why are you telling us?” Mike asks.

“I don’t give a shit about your urination habits,” Leon says, bemused.

“Why do I need to know that?” Tony asks.

“Er…Jaime, you wanna come with me?” Phil says. Jaime frowns at him, opening his mouth – presumably to say _why the fuck would I want to come and watch you pee, man, are we girls or what_ – before realising what Phil wants and snapping his mouth shut.

“Uh, sure,” he says, and the both of them get to their feet.

“Are you going off to fuck?” Mike asks suspiciously.

“Are you girls?” Tony asks. Phil settles for flipping both of them off as he walks with Jaime to the little alleyway where all the stoner kids hang out at break and lunch, barely wide enough to fit both of them in. Jesus, Phil’s getting fat. He needs to do more exercise, but then again, he’d rather not.

“So?” Jaime asks, leaning against the wall. “Did you sort shit out with Dan?”

“Kind of,” Phil says. “How are things looking with you and Vic?” Jaime’s small smile speaks volumes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, we’re not together or anything, but.” He ducks his head, grinning, and Phil finds himself smiling as well, which is weird. Because this is the first time he’s felt _genuinely happy_ that Vic and Jaime are doing well together, and he’s not sure whether it’s to do with him being relatively happy with Dan or him finally letting Vic go, and Vic letting him go. Maybe it’s just because he knows Vic will be happier with Jaime, Vic _deserves_ Jaime, and Jaime sure as fuck deserves Vic, if not more. Jaime’s been so good throughout all this; Phil doesn’t know how he’s managed to cope with Vic blatantly flirting with Phil right in front of Jaime. Phil wouldn’t have managed. Phil would have flipped.

“That’s good,” Phil says, and he actually means it. “I’m so happy for you guys. You’re good for each other.”

“So are you and Dan,” Jaime says. “I would never have pegged you guys for the types, though.” Phil sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. “I would never have put us down for it either. Fuck, I _hated_ Dan when I first came here.” He can’t even remember the moment it changed. He doesn’t know if it _has_ changed – he still fucking hates Dan, still wants to punch him in the face, just kind of wants to kiss him and fuck him and whisper filthy words into his ear at the same time now. He’s not sure what to think about that.

“He helps, though,” Phil says after a moment. “With all the shit going on in my life.” Jaime raises his head again and smiles at Phil, the kind of knowing smile that Phil hates.

“Well,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be able to help him too.” And he doesn’t explain what he means, doesn’t say a word, just smirks at Phil, pushes himself off the wall and walks back to the Sexicans-plus-Leon (whatever, like anyone knows Phil’s calling them that now), swinging his hips rather more sassily than necessary.

Phil stares after him, thoughts running in and out of his mind so fast they’re barely making sense anymore.

What did he mean?  
-  
Phil doesn’t go home that night either. He doesn’t want to see his mum, because he knows he’ll just get another lecture if he does, so he wanders the streets before remembering that the bridge exists and heading over there. It’s dusk by that time, though, because it’s starting to get darker and colder earlier, and by the time he actually reaches the bridge it’s actually dark. It gives him a perfect view of the night sky, though, of the twinkling specks of light studding the sky and the moon which is bathing him in silvery light. Phil swings himself onto the edge of the bridge, dangling his legs over the water and staring up at the sky.  He really _does_ feel so calm here, so detached from the world, so lonesome but in the best way possible.

Except apparently he’s _not_ alone, because someone’s swinging their legs over the bridge next to him, gazing up at the same stars and the same moon that he’s staring at.

“Calming, isn’t it?” the person says, and Phil realises it’s Dan. “Jaime told me you spoke to him.”

“Since when are you friends with Jaime?” Phil demands. Dan’s wry smile is almost audible.

“I wouldn’t say _friends_ ,” he says carefully. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Phil thinks it does, but he’s not in the mood to push it. He doesn’t want to fight, not here, not when he feels okay and content and relatively happy.

“You know what else I love about the stars?” Dan says thoughtfully.

“There’s _more_?” Phil says sarcastically, and Dan swats at him playfully.

“Yeah, you little shit,” he says. “Look at the moon.”

“I’m looking,” Phil says.

“How many other people do you think are looking at the moon right now?”

“Probably thousands,” Phil shrugs. “Why?”

“Right. There are thousands of us looking at the same thing, all connected through one common chunk of rock in outer space that’s shining down on us, illuminating half the world right now. Now look at the stars.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, shifting his gaze so he’s gazing at the glimmering dots in the jet-black of the sky. “What about them?”

“How many other people do you think are looking at the stars right now?”

“Probably thousands,” Phil repeats. “Why?”

“Because every single person sees the stars differently. Every single one of us can see different stars, or is drawn to certain constellations, or doesn’t see the stars at all. Some people can see the stars, but aren’t looking at them – some people are looking at them, but can’t see them. Some people can see shooting stars. Some people can see stars we can’t. We can see stars some others can’t. Some people are only looking at the bright stars, ignoring the fainter ones in the distance. Some people are only looking at the fainter ones in the distance, not acknowledging the bright ones. And some people are simply staring at the moon, the close, safe, secure moon.”

“And some people,” Phil says. “Some people are looking at the streetlights.” Dan huffs out a laugh, but it’s a thoughtful laugh rather than one that’s making fun of what Phil’s just said.

“Jaime told me you said that I help you,” Dan says after a few moments of silence. Phil’s suddenly glad it’s dark, as it hides both his scowl and his blush; both of which Dan can probably guess he’s sporting anyway, but whatever. Innocent until proven guilty.

“Twat,” Phil mutters.

“You help me too,” Dan says. “More than you realise.”

“Why?” Phil asks. “How?” Dan doesn’t reply, instead rummaging around in his coat pocket for something which he hands to Phil – a piece of paper.

“Here,” he says.

“What’s this?” Phil asks.

“Read it,” Dan says, so Phil unfolds it and holds it in as much moonlight as he can, squinting to make out the words.

_This is my note._

_Goodbye._

“What is this?” Phil asks, reading the words over and over again. It kind of looks like…but it can’t be-

“A suicide note,” Dan says. Phil inhales sharply. “The night I found you on the street, and we went to the bridge together. I was planning to throw myself off it.”

“Jesus,” Phil whispers, staring at the paper in the darkness. It feels suddenly heavy in his hands. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m glad I didn’t, too,” Dan says. “It’s just a struggle being alive sometimes, y’know? But I’m starting to find things a little more…enjoyable.” He shrugs.

“Please,” Phil says. “Don’t…don’t do it.” Dan could throw himself off _right now_ , Phil realises with a jolt, and Phil wouldn’t be able to anything about it. _Fuck_.

“Here,” Dan says, taking the scrap of paper back off Phil. Phil watches as he crumples it into a ball before throwing it, the paper arching gracefully through the air before plummeting into darkness the moonlight can’t penetrate.

“I’ve thrown away the streetlights, and I’ve thrown away the moon,” Dan says, gazing into the darkness below them. “All I’ve got left for me is the stars.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asks. He’s not in the mood for astrophysical metaphors.

“It means I’m going to live.”


	14. Chapter 14

The rest of the week passes relatively uneventfully. Phil starts attending even fewer lessons than usual, meaning his grades slip even lower because he doesn’t _apply_ himself, inducing more arguments with his mother. His father’s away until Saturday, though, so he can’t really bring himself to care that much until he wakes up on Saturday afternoon, still slightly intoxicated from the night before, with the Sexicans and Leon in his room.

“Hey,” someone’s slurring sleepily. “Phil, your- your dad. Wants to talk.” Phil groans, closing his eyes and burying his face in the pillow. Great.

“Well?” Vic prompts. “Are you gonna go talk to him, or?”

“I’d rather not,” Phil mumbles, muffled by the pillow, but he knows he has to, so, with a heavy sigh, he heaves himself out of bed and walks over to the door.

“What?” he asks tiredly when he steps outside, coming face-to-face with his father.

“Your _friends_ been drinking again, have they?” his father says disdainfully, with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust on his face.

“Yeah,” Phil says defiantly. “What about it?”

“I will not tolerate this in my house,” his father sneers. “Especially not from my own son.”

“I don’t count myself as your _son_ ,” Phil says, spitting the word out like it’s got a horrible taste. It does, if he’s honest; he hates that he’s his father’s son.

“You live under my roof, so you follow my rules,” his father hisses. “No more drinking.”

“Whatever,” Phil says, turning back to stomp into the room, rather more emphatically than he’d hoped.

“Hey!” Leon moans groggily, when Phil almost treads on his face. “Watch it.” Phil doesn’t reply, stalking back over and rolling into bed, groaning into his pillow.

“What’s up?” Vic asks, sounding concerned.

“Daddy issues,” Jaime says, and the smirk is almost audible in his voice. Phil lifts his hand to give him the finger – what a twat – but karma gets Jaime first, as he mumbles ‘Oh God’ and runs off to the ensuite bathroom. Phil sighs, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the whitewashed ceiling blankly.

“Wanna talk about it?” Vic offers, and Phil shakes his head. He doesn’t – not with Vic, anyway.

“I’ll be back,” he says suddenly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and standing on Mike’s arm, ignoring his pained protest as he walks swiftly out of the door, down the stairs and onto the street.

It’s colder than he was expecting – but then again, it is starting to get colder; he’s lived through enough winters already, he should know how they work – and he wraps his arms around himself as he walks hastily up the street, up to Dan’s house, knocking on the door and shivering slightly in the cold.

“Hello,” the woman who unlocks the door (presumably Dan and Leon’s mother, unless they have a dark secret they’re hiding from him) says, surprised. “Aren’t you Leon’s friend?”

“Yeah,” Phil says awkwardly. “Uh, is Dan in?” The woman frowns, but yells Dan’s name up the stairs. Phil hears a faint, irritated ‘what’ come floating back down.

“There’s someone here to see you!”  his mother yells.

“If it’s Chris or PJ, I’m not in,” Dan shouts back down.

“It’s Leon’s friend, the black-haired one,” his mother yells back up, and there’s a sudden bang and the stampeding sound of footsteps, resulting in a dishevelled Dan appearing with a grin.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he says. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“It’s _two in the afternoon_ ,” Dan’s mother says, sounding scandalised.

“Exactly,” Dan says. “Look, d’you wanna…go out somewhere?” He glances over at his mother so Phil can see – _she’ll be checking up on us every three seconds otherwise_ – and Phil nods. Dan pulls a grey hoodie off the hooks by the door, chucking it at Phil before pulling another blue one off for himself, ushering Phil out of the door and closing it behind them.

“Sorry,” Dan says, shrugging his hoodie on and watching Phil do the same as they walk down the driveway. “She’s nosey.”

“Don’t worry,” Phil says. “My dad’s the same.”

“Is that what you want to talk about?” Dan says, and Phil huffs out a laugh. Dan’s shrewder than he looks.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” he says. Does he want to talk about it? Not really; he just wants to be with Dan. Dan makes him feel better.

“Alright,” Dan says easily as they turn absent-mindedly off into the dirt track that leads to the bridge. Phil needs the calmness right now.

They stay silent until they reach the bridge, swinging their legs over easily and letting them dangle off the side. Phil can actually see the water, for once, and it’s really fucking far below them. It must be at least a hundred and fifty metres; the waterfall opposite them is cascading down into a foamy sea of white at the bottom, so it’s pretty fucking far. It’s absolutely beautiful, though.

“Why did you want to kill yourself?” Phil asks, and it’s a really personal question and he’s about to apologise for asking it when Dan answers.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I guess it’s just because it’s easier than living. It’s not that I particularly hate life – I can continue my life, continue living it, sure – I just find no joy in it. Everything takes ridiculous effort and I have to battle countless mental and physical obstacles to get the simplest of things done. It’s just not the way I want things to be.”

“And suicide would…be the solution?” Phil asks carefully. Dan sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says heavily. “No one can really tell us, can they? It would put me to rest, either way.” Phil doesn’t say anything else, just listening to the roar of the water tumbling down into the river below them.

“You know,” Dan says after a while. “I never really believed in happiness.”

“Why?” Phil says, unsurprised. He’s starting to get used to Dan’s quirky little deep moments.

“Because I’d never experienced it. How can you believe in something you’ve never experienced?”

“I don’t know,” says Phil, “there are plenty of religious people out there.” Dan shakes his head, but he’s grinning, and that makes Phil smile.

“You know what I mean,” he says. “I never thought I’d actually be happy, or anywhere close to happy. But here, looking out at the water, sitting next to you…I’m content.”

And the little hitch of Phil’s lips is all Dan needs before they’re kissing, the roar of the waterfall drowning out anything else Dan wants to say.  
-  
It’s dusk by the time Dan and Phil leave the bridge, walking home side by side, hands brushing but neither of them brave enough to make the first move. Phil says goodbye to Dan outside his front door, but they don’t kiss – too wary of Dan’s mother – before setting off back to his house. He gets about halfway down the street before he realises he doesn’t want to go home, not yet, not today. He doesn’t want to bother Dan again, though, so he sets off for Vic’s house instead with a small smile on his face.

“Alright?” Vic says, when he opens the door. “Where’s Dan?”

“He went home,” Phil says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Vic says, stepping aside to allow Phil entrance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My father,” Phil says with a grimace. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” Vic says, ushering him upstairs and into his room. “It’s fine.” Phil obeys Vic’s mother-like shooing, walking up the stairs and into Vic’s room, collapsing onto the bed and staring at lal the band posters around him.

“Good taste,” he nods, eyeing a Fall Out Boy poster, and Vic grins.

“Thanks,” he says. “My friends Alex and Jack introduced me to most of them.”

“Good friends you’ve got there,” Phil remarks, and Vic sighs, grinning happily.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have got good friends.”

“Like Jaime?” Phil says with a smirk, and Vic tries to scowl as he blushes deeply, but can’t manage it.

“Fuck you,” he says, sounding like a petulant child. Phil sits back on the bed, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“So,” he says. “What exactly’s going on with you two?” Vic’s blush deepens – something which, had Phil not just seen it occur, he would have held for impossible – and he hides a small smile.

“Nothing,” he says, but the tone of his voice makes it evident something is.

“Come on,” Phil wheedles. “Tell me.” Vic sighs, falling onto the bed and gazing up at the ceiling.

“Well, it’s basically how we were before…yeah,” he says. “Except maybe a little more intense. I think- I think I might be in love with him.” The words hang in the air for a moment, heavy and meaningful, and Vic bites his lip. “I’m scared,” he adds in a whisper, and Phil turns to him, playing soothingly with his hair.

“It’s natural to be scared,” he says. “We’re all scared of what we don’t know.”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Vic says. “What if he doesn’t actually want me that much?”

“I think he does,” Phil says. “He stuck by you through everything you did, everything _we_ did. That takes dedication and…well, and love.”

“I’m not so sure,” Vic says. “I was a right shit to him. I basically cheated on him with you.”

“Love doesn’t end just because you want it to, Vic,” Phil says gently.

“All I can do is hope,” Vic says, blinking, and Phil notices his eyes are shining with tears.

“Hey,” he says softly, stroking Vic’s cheek. “It’s alright.”

“Except it’s not really, is it?” Vic chokes out. “I ruined everything, just because I was selfish and stupid.”

“You should talk it out with him,” Phil suggests. “Tell him how you feel. He probably thinks you don’t like him anymore, because of…yeah.” He doesn’t want to relive those memories; fresh wounds still hurt, and it’d just be throwing salt in them.

“What if he starts hating me?” Vic whispers.

“If there’s one thing that will never happen, it’s Jaime hating you,” Phil says. “That boy loves you with all his heart, Vic. He’d give anything to see you happy. He probably let me and you happen because he thought you were happier with me.”

“God, don’t say that,” Vic says, closing his eyes in pain. “I’ve been such a dick.”

“Mistakes can be corrected,” Phil says.

“Okay,” Vic resolves decidedly. “I’m going to tell him. Tomorrow.” Phil smiles.

“Good on you,” he says, and he really means it. He’s happy for them.  
-  
Someone’s throwing stones at the window, and it’s woken Phil up. He stumbles blearily over, hauling it up so he can bend down and lean out and yell at whoever’s causing such a racket. He doesn’t, however, because he realises who it is just in time.

“ _Dan_?” he says incredulously. How the fuck does Dan know where Vic lives? Moreover, how the fuck does Dan know that he’ll be here?

“Shh!” Dan hisses, looking around him warily. “Come down.”

“It’s like-“

“Three thirty-four a.m., dickhead,” Dan says, and Phil can’t see him rolling his eyes but he can imagine it. “Get down here.” Phil flips him off, shutting the window, but steals past Vic’s sleeping figure and heads downstairs.

“Couldn’t this have waited?” he says, shivering in the cold as he approaches Dan.

“Probably, but then again, probably not,” Dan says. “I need to tell you something.”

“It could probably have waited, then,” Phil mutters, but he follows Dan out of the driveway and onto the pavement.

“I guess you spoke to Vic about Jaime?” Phil nods. Why is that important?

“Vic’s pretty much in love with Jaim, right?” Phil frowns at the use of Jaime’s nickname, but nods again.

“Why?” he says. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No, but I bet Vic’s about to,” Dan says. Phil doesn’t answer, and he sighs. “Correct.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Does it affect you?”

“No, but what I’m about to tell you might…affect things,” Dan says, and he sounds kind of worried. Phil’s stomach plummets, and he swallows thickly.

“Go on,” he says. Dan takes a deep breath, not looking at Phil.

“Jaime’s my ex-boyfriend,” he says in a rush.

“Sorry, what?” Phil says. He can’t have heard that right.

“Jaime’s my ex,” Dan repeats. His face looks paler than usual in the orange glow of the streetlights. “I…we dated, for a while.”

“You told me you were straight, until me,” Phil says. “You told me you were sure of your life.”

“I lied,” Dan says quietly. “I was…well, in denial, I guess.” He sounds pained, as if saying those words, admitting to what he is, is a huge effort.

“You lied to me,” Phil repeats. “Jaime lied to Vic.”

“No, it wasn’t like tha-“

“You both lied to us,” Phil ploughs on, voice rising as he continues. “I thought Jaime loved Vic.”

“He does!” Dan says.

“So that’s why you still talk to Jaime,” Phil says. “Because you-“

“We’re not together anymo-“

“But you still lo-“

“I don’t love Jaime, Jesus Chri-“

“ _You lied to me_!” Phil yells. Dan lapses abruptly into silence.

“Are you going to tell Vic?” he asks quietly. Phil considers it.

“No,” he says. “I think that’s for Jaime to tell him.”

“Okay,” Dan says, subdued. “I’ll- I’ll go now.” And he turns his back on Phil, walking dejectedly away from him, soon swallowed by the darkness. Phil watches him go, watches him until he can’t see him anymore.

Then he turns his back on Dan, and heads back inside.


	15. Chapter 15

Phil leaves early on Sunday morning, waving goodbye to a slightly bemused Vic as he heads off down the street. He’s not in the mood for hanging around and pretending to be fine with Vic, not when he knows what Vic doesn’t, not when he’s just done _whatever_ to Dan, not now.

He mulls it over as he ambles down the road, kicking pebbles as he goes. What _has_ he done to Dan? What happens now? They haven’t… _broken up_ , right, because they were never together. Technically, Phil can do whatever he wants, because he’s not like, _tied down_ or anything.

 _Except_ , that little voice in the back of his head says, _you were as good as tied down_. Phil scowls, shoving the thought away as far as he possibly can, focusing on kicking this particular pebble as far as he can down the road. He _wasn’t_ tied down, alright, him and Dan weren’t officially anything at all, so he’s not _done_ anything at all.

So why does he feel so guilty, so frustrated, so wound up and _so shit_ about it?

The next thought that shoves its way to the forefront of his mind makes him feel so suddenly sick that he almost has to sit down, pushing it back as far as he possibly can to the dark corners of his consciousness.

 _No_.

Dan lied to him. Dan made Phil feel guilty for no particular reason through his lies, and Phil’s not up for dealing with that. Sure, Dan has problems – but fuck, Phil does too! It’s not all about fucking _Dan_ and his shitty-ass life. It’s about Phil and _his_ shitty life too.

He ends up at the bridge without even realising, unsure how he got there, a handful of pebbles in his hand, chucking them one by one at the waterfall and watching them fall gracefully into the churning, foamy water underneath. He’s so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t realise there’s someone next to him until they speak.

“I guess Dan told you,” the person says, and Phil nearly keels over, almost falling off the bridge before regaining his balance, adrenaline coursing through his veins. _Shit_.

“Jesus, Jaim, wanna give me cardiac arrest?” he says shakily, clutching his chest. Jaime grins, staring out at the waterfall.

“If it makes you forgive Dan, sure,” he says. “He’s pretty fucking torn up about it, y’know. Been crying to me all night.” Dan? Crying? As if.

“Sure,” Phil snorts, and he’s not sure why he’s being so cold-hearted about it when the fact that Dan’s been crying makes his heart tug a little, the ice covering it melt a little.

“I’m serious,” Jaime says, turning to look at Phil earnestly. “He’s in pieces, man. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Phil says. “He lied to me.”

“Would you rather you’d found out for yourself?” Jaime says. “Imagine how that would have felt. Not only had he lied to you, but he’d kept it from you.”

“He _did_ keep it from me,” Phil growls, hurling another pebble as far across the water as he can. This one actually touches the waterfall, propelled down by the hefty force of the water.

“Come on, Phil,” Jaime sighs. “You’re being irrational.” Phil grits his teeth, flinging another pebble out across the water. He might be being irrational, but since when has Dan been _rational_? Phil’s just taking a leaf out of Dan’s book; that’s all.

“What happened with you two, then?” Phil asks, after a few moments. Jaime sighs again, raking a hand through his spiky hair. Phil wonders idly if it’s soft to the touch.

“It was a couple of years ago, now,” he says. “I used to come to the bridge a lot with my dad; we’d fish here. Yeah, I know,” he says with a wry smile as Phil snorts a little. “Not exactly a prime fishing spot, right? We never caught anything, just broke a load of rods. Still, it was father/son time and we never got any of that.” He shrugs, and Phil sobers up – he understands how that feels. Sometimes he wishes he had a proper father, someone he could look up to and idolise and aspire and strive to be like, but he doesn’t. And sometimes, that sucks.

“My Dad and I stopped fishing when I was about ten, when his work started demanding more from him. I still went to the bridge every Saturday, though, and just sat there staring at the waterfall. It’s oddly calming, don’t you think? One day, however, there was a stranger standing on the bridge, arms spread as if he was about to jump. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was thinking. I asked him what he was thinking about, and he said death. We didn’t exchange any more words. I just sat next to him on the bridge for a couple of hours. And then I went home.”

“Why didn’t you try and discourage him from jumping?” Phil asks. That would be the logical thing to do, right?

“Oh, I knew he wasn’t going to jump,” Jaime says.

“How?”

“Gut instinct. Some people have the courage, others don’t. He didn’t.”

“So what happened then?” Phil asks. He’s oddly intrigued by this story; maybe because it’s Dan’s past, maybe because it’s Jaime’s, but either way it’s interesting enough for him to want to hear more.

“I still went every Saturday. Except now there was this boy every Saturday, standing in the same position on the bridge. And I’d sit next to him, say nothing, and then leave after a couple of hours. I never saw him around at school – I kept myself to myself before Vic and Mike showed up, bringing me and Tony together as well – so I knew nothing about him. He was just that stranger at the bridge. But one Saturday I went to the bridge, and he wasn’t standing on it. He was sitting down, staring at the waterfall across from the bridge. I sat down next to him, expecting another silent day, but he spoke to me. He asked me what my name was. I was surprised, but I told him. He told me his name was Dan, and that he liked my hair. He asked if he could touch it.” Jaime’s lips hitch into a small smile. “I said yeah, and he grinned at me, reaching up to stroke it. I closed my eyes -  ‘cause it’s nice when someone touches your hair, y’know? – and he told me to open them again. I asked why, confused, and he told me I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.”

“They _are_ pretty,” Phil agrees thoughtfully - similar to Vic’s – and Jaime blushes slightly.  

“We started meeting every Saturday at the bridge. Every week we’d just talk for a few hours, have a bit of a laugh, and then go home. But one Saturday, just after Vic and Mike moved in, he was standing on the bridge again. This time I was scared. This time he had the courage to jump. So I ran over, begged him not to jump. I told him I needed him, _please don’t jump_. It took a couple of hours – until it was dark, even – but eventually he got down. And he started crying. I held him as he cried, not asking him what was wrong, not asking what had happened, just…just hugging him. And when it was dark, when I could barely see his face in the weak moonlight, he kissed me. I don’t know what happened, what came over either of us, but we were just…kissing. A lot.” Phil feels a sharp pang of jealousy stab him right in the chest – why? This is the _past_ , he reminds himself, but it’s more forceful than it would usually be.

“So what went wrong?” he asks. Jaime sighs.

“We went on like that for a few months, meeting every Saturday, kissing and talking a lot, maybe even the odd handjob – _what_ , okay, we were _horny teenagers_. I’d befriended Vic, Mike and Tony by this point, and we were getting closer and closer, and I was starting to realise that maybe I actually liked Vic a little bit more than Dan. I felt terrible for feeling like that, though, so I pushed the feelings aside and tried to focus on Dan. But one week he told me he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t do _us_. I asked why not, confused, wondering what I’d done, but he just shook his head, offering me no explanation. He made to walk away, but I put my hand on his arm and spun him back around, wanting some kind of explanation. I mean, you don’t just dump someone and don’t say why, right? That’s a bit out of order. And he still wouldn’t tell me, but I was insistent, and eventually he yelled that he wasn’t gay.” Phil snorts.

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath, but Jaime catches it and grins.

“Exactly what I thought. You don’t kiss a boy for _months_ , give him _handjobs_ , without being at least a _little bit_ gay. So I called bullshit, and coaxed him into sitting down and talking to me. He told me that he _wasn’t_ gay, a little more forcefully than he’d maybe have done otherwise, and I just nodded. No point pushing him to breaking point, right? And we sat there for a while, and then he said he couldn’t be associated with me anymore. I couldn’t speak to him again. I’d kind of expected something like that – see, by that time I’d heard rumours about him starting to step things up a notch and become a relatively vicious bully, but still never seen him in action myself – so I nodded. And then he asked if he could touch my hair. I nodded, surprised, and he smiled sadly at me, reaching up to touch it. I closed my eyes, trying not to cry, and he whispered at me to open them again. I asked why, but obeyed, and he wiped away the tear that fell, telling me I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.”

Phil’s not really sure why he’s choked up now. Fuck, this isn’t anything to do with him, so why does he care? Why does he suddenly want to travel back in time and give both Dan and Jaime fierce hugs?

“We didn’t speak for ages after that. I was in Year Nine when we broke up, and it wasn’t until this summer that we started talking again. We met at the bridge – I hadn’t been going since we broke up, but I decided to that Saturday – and he spoke to me again. He asked me how I’d been, what had been going on, et cetera. I asked him why he thought it would be fun to get his friends to lock me and my friends in a dark room for hours, beat us up, steal our shit, et cetera. He looked kind of ashamed of himself, but didn’t offer me an explanation. I felt a bit sick; that’s not the Dan I knew, the Dan I loved, so I turned to leave, but he caught my arm, begging me to stay. Reluctantly, I did, swinging my legs over and sitting on the bridge with him, just like the old days. And suddenly he was babbling at me, apologies stumbling over one another as they tumbled from his lips. I listened to them, but I said nothing. I wasn’t sure whether a year’s worth of heartbreak and bullying could be forgiven in words.”

“Can it?” Phil asks. “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah,” Jaime says, sighing. “Yeah, I did. We made up. I told him about Vic, and he grinned at me, telling me that he’s not an idiot, of course he could see that, and it was just like it had been before, just without the kissing and stuff. We spoke for hours, filling each other in on what had happened in the past year, but before I left he asked me if I’d keep this secret, our little friendship. I considered it – I wondered whether I really should, since he’d mistreated me so much over the past year – but I agreed. And since then we’ve been going to each other’s houses – sneakily, of course, made even harder by the fact that I befriended Leon – and meeting here, meeting at school, catching up on each other’s lives and helping with advice.”

“So you’re…like, _active_ friends?” Phil asks, feeling stupid. Jaime laughs.

“ _Active friends_ , what the fuck,” he says, and Phil scowls. “But yeah, we are. And I know him better than anyone else does. I know how he feels about you, Phil, no matter what he says to you or to himself.” Phil says nothing. He’s still simmering about Dan lying to him, but now, in the grand scheme of things, it feels small, irrelevant.

“You should forgive him,” Jaime says. “He’s…he’s really upset about this, Phil. I’ve never seen him this upset before. Fuck, I’ve never seen him this confused or emotional before; he usually doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. Just…at least talk to him, okay?” Phil considers it for a moment, but nods his agreement. Fine. He can talk to Dan.

“Good,” Jaime says, hopping down off the bridge, his hair ruffled by the wind. “Oh, by the way- he told me to give you this, if I saw you.” He fiddles around in his pocket, fishing out a scrap of paper after a moment and handing it to Phil, before turning his back and leaving. Phil frowns at his retreating figure, watching him until he’s swallowed by the trees, before turning back to the waterfall, unfolding the piece of paper.

There, in hastily scribbled, spidery handwriting are twelve words.

_And it’s good enough to make me want to fall in love._


	16. Chapter 16

Phil intends to find Dan at school, maybe corner Leon during break or lunch and ask if he knows where his brother will be. That plan falls through, though, since Leon’s not in and Phil doesn’t want to go off searching for Dan of his own accord. He’ll probably get beaten up by Chris and PJ again.

“I fucking hate French,” Vic snaps as he walks over to the rest of the Sexicans, having been the only one to go to third lesson. “Look how much fucking homework we get.”

“Should have taken Spanish,” Tony grins, and Vic glowers at him.

“I mean, who actually _cares_ about- about, _subjunctives_ , and _infinitives_ , and whatever-“

“You kind of need infinitives to work anything out in a language,” Jaime points out, and Vic turns his glare on Jaime instead. “Woah, mate, just saying.”

“I’m so fucking _done_ ,” Vic declares, throwing his folder on the grass and sitting down with far more force than is required for a short person to reach the ground. “I don’t want to do any more lessons ever again in my entire life. Ever.”

“Who does?” Phil asks, watching Jaime subtly pick a sausage roll out of his lunch and aim it at Mike, hitting him square in the face. Jaime grins in satisfaction, shooting Phil a quick wink, and Phil can’t help but shake his head fondly. Whatever makes the kid smile.

“Aren’t you coming to Music later, then?” Tony asks, shifting away from Mike as Jaime starts properly pelting him with food.

“Do I have to?” Vic moans, closing his eyes and tipping his head back in frustration. His skin catches the sun, making him glow in an almost golden way, and Phil sees Jaime’s gaze linger a little too long before returning to the other Fuentes brother.

“Well, I am,” Tony shrugs, turning to Mike. “Mike?”

“Yeah, I- _Jaime Alberto Preciado_ -“

“Jaim?” Jaime nods, throwing grape after grape at Mike, whose dodging skills are honed to this by now. “Phil?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, shooting Vic an apologetic look. Maybe he’ll catch Dan in Music.

“Fuck you all,” Vic mutters, but the words are frustrated rather than heated.

“Not me,” Mike says. “That’s gross.”

“Fuck all of you except Mike, then.”

“You’ll probably catch something if you do,” Jaime says.

“Are you saying you have an STD?” Vic demands.

“No,” Jaime shrugs, “but Tony might.” Tony scowls.

“I am a _virgin_ ,” he protests, but no one’s listening because Jaime’s just managed to get a grape down Mike’s shirt and Mike’s yelling at Jaime and squealing like a girl, and when Phil glances over at Vic even he’s smiling a little bit.  
-  
“Hey,” Phil says, walking into his practice room in surprise, finding Mr Dowsett there.

“Oh, Phil!” Mr Dowsett says. “I was just wondering how your piece with Dan is getting along.” Phil frowns.

“I’m not doing a piece with Dan,” he says. “Dan’s AS-Level, I’m GCSE.”

“Yeah, about that,” Mr Dowsett says. “I thought it would be good if you two did a piece together. Your friends tell me you’re two very compatible people.” He’s got a little twinkle in his eye as he says it, and Phil scowls.

“I’ll bet they did,” he mutters under his breath, beginning to mentally list the numerous ways he could kill the Sexicans.

“So, what do you say?” Mr Dowsett says. “We’ve got a couple of weeks left, so you still have time to adapt your piece and add Dan’s part in.” Phil hasn’t even _got_ a piece to adapt; so it should be even easier. That doesn’t mean he wants to do it, though. He’s still kind of mad at Dan for pretending to be straight when he very clearly isn’t.

“Sure,” Phil sighs after a moment, clearly seeing that there’s no other way out of the situation.

“Great,” Mr Dowsett says. “He’ll probably be here soon, so you might want to set things up.” He walks out of the room, and Phil barely has time to hold his head in his hands and curse himself for agreeing to this before someone else is walking in, stopping abruptly in the doorway.

“Close the door,” Phil says tiredly, guessing it’s Dan. The door clicks shut and Phil looks up to see it is indeed Dan, sporting a deer-in-the-headlights look as he hovers awkwardly by his usual seat.

“I spoke to Jaime,” Phil says, and Dan bites his lip, looking anywhere but at Phil as a blush spreads across his cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, though, so Phil continues. “He told me all about your…you two.”

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers, and Phil sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Dan,” he says. “If you’re gay, just tell me, okay? Fuck, what am _I_ gonna do? I clearly want you just as much.” Dan swallows audibly, clenching his hand into a fist against his thigh. “Being in denial’s not going to get us anywhere but in trouble. It’s like you were leading me on, lying to me and making me feel like I was some kind of special person, like I _meant something_ to you, when you’d actually already fucked Jaim. Can you imagine how that felt?” Dan nods meekly.

“I get why you did it though,” Phil carries on, and Dan looks at him in surprise. “Yeah, I do. Denial’s not an easy stage to get through, but it doesn’t take an idiot to work your situation out.”

“I thought Jaim was a phase,” Dan says. “I’d managed to convince myself it was, when you turned up. And then it wasn’t a phase anymore; it was _me_.”

“There you go,” Phil says softly. “You’ve just said it’s you. That’s all the acceptance you need.” And suddenly all the blood drains from Dan’s face, and he sits down heavily in the chair.

“Shit,” he whispers, faint and scared and horrified. “I’m…I’m gay.” Phil thinks he might throw up, so he walks over, kneeling next to Dan and putting a comforting hand on his back.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay.” Dan doesn’t reply, just stares at the carpet.

“I’m going to leave you now,” Phil says, sensing Dan’s too caught up in the thoughts in his mind to make any effort to communicate with anyone else. “Come talk to me when you’re ready.” Dan doesn’t respond, doesn’t even nod, doesn’t watch Phil as he straightens up and picks up his bag, walking out of the door and slipping into the Sexican practice room down the corridor.

“Alright?” Tony says, surprised, from where he’s standing and probably sweet-talking a disgruntled-looking Vic. “What do we owe the pleasure?” Phil shoots a glance at Jaime, a _we need to talk_ glance, and Jaime understands, taking his bass off his shoulders.

“Hang on, guys,” Jaime says, following Phil back out of the door. No one pays any attention to them as they head up the corridor, into the weird, disused practice room where Vic and Phil had kissed for the very last time.

“Did you talk to him?” Jaime asks as soon as the door swings shut, and Phil nods.

“Yeah,” he sighs, carding a hand through his hair (before realising he’s probably messed it up, and smoothing it back down hastily). “He’s…well.” He shrugs. “Not good.”

“Not good?” Jaime asks, frowning in concern, and Phil sighs again. How the fuck does he explain this?

“I told him I spoke to you, and he kind of accidentally admitted he was gay. And then I pointed it out. And…yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Shit,” Jaime says in an exhale, raking a hand through his own unruly hair. “Is he still in there?” Phil nods.

“I thought he’d need some time alone, time to sort through his own thoughts,” he says, but now that he thinks about it – Dan, suicidal, lonely, frightened Dan – was it such a good idea?  

“He does,” Jaime says. “He’ll just lash out at you otherwise, or manage to convince himself he’s straight. I’ll go see him before the end of the lesson, make sure he’s okay though, alright? He’ll probably come and talk to you later on. He likes seeing you at night.” Phil frowns, but nods, and Jaime looks like he’s about to say something more before thinking better of it and turning to open the door to the practice room and let them out. He stops abruptly, however, spinning back to face Phil.

“You mean a lot to him, y’know,” he says. “More than I ever did. I think…I think he’s starting to fall in love with you.”  
-  
Phil actually does some homework that night, for the first time since…well, for the first time. It’s mainly to take his mind off things, though, because he doesn’t want to think about what Dan might be doing, what Dan might be thinking, what Dan might be going through. He gives up after a couple of hours, however, because he’s never going to be able to write a three-thousand word essay for History in this mindset, and yells out a quick goodbye to Maggie and James, shrugging on a hoodie and heading out into the darkness of the night.

He knows where he’s headed, and somehow he knows that Dan’s going to be there. His gut instinct proves correct when he reaches the bridge, seeing Dan standing on it, arms spread, clothes ruffled by the wind. Phil walks over, not saying anything, just sitting down next to Dan.

“Why don’t you get down?” Phil suggests after a few minutes.

“Not as much fun,” Dan says. Phil raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. If fun’s what Dan’s after, so be it. Standing on a bridge is clearly highly invigorating.

“Jaime came and spoke to me,” Dan says after a few more moments of relative silence. “Made sure I was okay.” Phil feels suddenly guilty, as though Dan’s accusing him of not caring.

“And are you?” he asks, craning his neck to see Dan’s face. It remains blank as Dan shrugs, closing his eyes as the breeze ruffles his hair.

“It’s scary,” he says. “I wasn’t really prepared for how…how _overwhelming_ it is. I’m different. I don’t like it. But I’m starting to accept it.”

“You’re not _different_ ,” Phil insists. “Are you saying I am, too? Jaime? Vic?” Dan shrugs again, noncommittally, as if he doesn’t care, but doesn’t reply. Charming.

“Come on,” Phil coaxes softly, after an uncomfortable amount of time passes. “Get down.”

“Give me a reason,” Dan says.

“I’m asking you to,” Phil says.

“Not good enough,” Dan replies, shaking his head with a slightly wry smile playing on his lips.

“The whole point of life,” Phil says, “is that you have to find your _own_ reasons to live. People can tell you all the bullshit they want, but in the end it’s _you_ who decides what’s important enough to live for, what you want in your life. I could list a thousand reasons for you to get off that bridge right now, but none of them will be _your_ reasons. They’ll be my reasons for you to live, not yours. That’s not going to help you, because what I consider worthy of living for you might consider totally shit. But there’s always one reason to live, one reason that you hesitate before jumping. And you’ve just got to hold onto that one reason, cling to it like it’s going to go away as soon as you stop holding it.” Dan’s silent for a few moments, and neither of them move, and Phil thinks _oh shit, he’s going to jump_ but then Dan gets down, sitting down beside Phil and gazing out at the waterfall.

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers, but Phil just finds his hand in the darkness, twining their fingers together.

“Don’t be,” he says. “It’s okay.” It’s starting to get colder now, the wind nipping at their bodies, and when Dan shivers next to him Phil decides it’s time to go.

“Come on,” he says gently, letting go of Dan’s hand and hopping off the bridge. “We’d better get home.” Dan nods, getting off the bridge himself, and Phil tangles their fingers together again. Dan smiles shyly at him, and they set off through the woods, down the dirt track and back onto the street, back into civilisation. Their road isn’t too far away, though, so they reach Dan’s house soon enough.

“I don’t want to go,” Dan says petulantly, turning to face Phil halfway up his driveway, and Phil has to laugh a little at the childish tone of his voice.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he promises. Dan pouts sulkily, and Phil laughs softly, leaning forwards and pressing their lips together, kissing Dan’s displeasure away. Dan soon melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist as Phil hooks his own around Dan’s neck. It’s a good few minutes before they break away, gasping for air but both grinning inanely.

“Hey,” Phil says, looking upwards. “Look up.” Dan obeys.

“What?” he asks, and Phil grins.

“The stars are brighter than the streetlights,” he murmurs. And it’s true, they are, glimmering brighter than ever in the distance.


	17. Chapter 17

“Phil,” James says at breakfast the next morning. Phil looks up at his younger brother, at his earnest face.

“Yeah?” he says, surprised.

“Are you happy now?” Phil frowns, opening his mouth to say _when was I not happy, I’ve always been happy_ before snapping it shut again. Because he _hasn’t_ always been happy, but since when has James picked up on that?

“What do you mean?” Phil asks carefully. James is clearly sharper than he looks.

“You’ve never been happy,” James says sadly, but almost casually. “You never used to smile. I never used to see you laugh. You’d lock yourself away from everyone, only come down for food, never speak to us.” Phil frowns again, trying to remember. Is that true? It sounds relatively plausible; that’s how he used to feel, anyway. Maybe he wasn’t as good at disguising it as he thought.

“And?” he says. It’s making him slightly uncomfortable that his nine-year-old brother seems to know him better than he does.

“And now you smile. You laugh. You talk to us at dinner, watch movies with me, go out…you’re _happier_ , Phil.”

“Yeah,” Phil says slowly, as his mind flits from image to image – his old school, his old bullies, his parents, to Vic, Jaime, Mike, Tony, Leon, _Dan_. “Yeah, I guess I am.” And it’s a weird feeling, realising that he’s actually happy, actually content with life, that there’s something to live for now.

“I guess you found a reason to get up in the mornings,” James says nonchalantly, but his eyes are shrewd. He’s watching Phil’s every move, calculating, observing, working out what Phil’s thinking. He’d be a brilliant master criminal.

“Yeah,” Phil says. “I guess I did.”  
-  
He’s still thinking about that conversation on his way to school, causing him to forget that he has to _jump_ over a fence and leading him to try and run straight into it. He’s got a huge bruise on his forehead that everyone’s going to make fun of, but he can’t even find it in him to be disgruntled about that. Because he’s fucking _happy_.

“Hey,” Jaime says when he walks over to them. “You look like a cat that got the tongue.”

“No,” Tony says patiently. “You mean cat that got the cream.” Jaime frowns.

“Do I?” he says. “Probably.” Vic grins and whips his phone out, typing something out.

“Aw, fuck,” Jaime says, realising what Vic’s doing. “Don’t add that one.”

“What?” Phil asks, confused.

“Jaime messes up a lot of common phrases,” Vic explains. “So we started a list called ‘Jaime can’t talk good’.” Jaime groans and buries his head in his hands.

“Come on, tell him some,” Mike says with a grin in Jaime’s direction.

“Let’s kill birds with stones,” Vic says.

“My favourite,” Tony giggles.

“I’ll be there in two licks of a lamb’s tail?” Vic says, turning to look at Jaime, and Jaime shakes his head, making a vague noise of discontent. Mike pulls a face.

“Gross,” he says. “Never looking at _your_ internet history.” Jaime glowers at him.

“What’s up with that all about?” Vic says with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s _understandable_ , cut me some slack,” Jaime says.

“To some pregnant, girl, he said; ‘Who’s got the baby in the oven?’” Vic continues, completely ignoring Jaime’s comment.

“Never let him become a father,” Tony says seriously to Vic. “I will adopt any child he has, seriously.”

“Like _you’d_ be any better,” Mike says. Tony pouts.

“I’d be a _great_ father,” he says sulkily, and Leon laughs.

“I don’t think _any_ of us would be good fathers,” he points out. “We get ridiculously drunk every weekend.” Everyone has to grudgingly concede there, because it’s a fair point.

“I bet _Dan_ would be a good father,” Vic says with a smirk, shooting a look at Phil. Phil tries to hide his blush but to no avail; it’s harder when he has five pairs of brown eyes staring at him, twinkling with humour.

“Fuck you all,” Phil mumbles, bringing his legs up to his chest and burying his burning face in his knees.

“Aw, Phil’s got a crush!” Mike sing-songs.

“Dude, they’re practically an _item_ ,” Phil hears Tony say. “Are you dumb, or what? ‘Crush’ hardly covers it.”

“It’s better than singing ‘Phil’s got an almost-boyfriend-who-is-probably-a-psychopath-but-Phil-loves-him-anyway!”

“Yeah, that doesn’t quite have the same ring,” Vic says thoughtfully. “Dan’s alright, though.” Jaime doesn’t say anything, and Phil peeks over his knees to see him staring awkwardly at the ground, quietly. He still hasn’t told Vic.

“Jaim, can we talk?” he says, and Jaime looks at him, a _is this about Dan_ look. Phil nods imperceptibly, and Jaime sighs, nodding as he gets to his feet and following Phil, who’s already halfway to the building, heading towards the alleyway Jaime had taken him to last time.

“So?” Jaime asks, when they reach the alleyway and Phil spins around. “What about Dan?”

“Why haven’t you told Vic yet?” Phil asks. It’s not really his place to ask - especially after how he reacted to Dan telling him about Jaime - but he still feels Vic deserves to know. At any rate, Vic deserves to know before they progress any further with their relationship; it’s hardly fair otherwise.

“Because I don’t really need to,” Jaime says, but he’s not looking Phil in the eye. Of course, Jaime doesn’t _really_ need to – Dan was before Vic, they started dating before Vic even moved into Kelkham – but that doesn’t mean Vic won’t need to know. It’s a big part of Jaime’s past.

“He won’t be mad,” Phil says with a sigh. “It’s Vic. He can’t be mad at you for anything. He loves you too much.” Jaime snorts a little, but says nothing, still not looking at Phil. “Look,” Phil says. “I only reacted the way I did because Dan had _lied_. You haven’t lied to Vic about anything; this was before Vic.”

“What was before Vic?” a voice behind Jaime says, and both Jaime and Phil jump and curse.

“Shit, Vic,” Phil breathes, trying to calm his racing heart down.

“ _Mierda_ , Vic,” Jaime practically shrieks, stumbling backwards as he clutches his hand to his chest.

“What’s going on?” Vic demands, choosing to ignore their reactions. “What was before my time, Jaim? What’s Dan lied about?” Jaime throws Phil a pleading glance – _this is your fucking fault, man, sort it out_ – but Phil shakes his head. Jaime has to tell Vic sooner or later, anyway – better he find out now than find out later, meaning Jaime would have to lie right now too.  

“Er,” Jaime says, and Vic stands there waiting expectantly.

“What, Jaime?” he says patiently, in a half-cold way that makes Jaime shrink away a little. “Spit it out.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jaime sighs, resigning himself to telling Vic. “And you’re going to hate me for it.”

“I won’t,” Vic promises, but the icy tone is still there.   

“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Phil says, feeling like he’s intruding, but as he makes to walk away Jaime catches his wrist.

“No,” he says. “You’re as much a part of this as I am.” Phil opens his mouth to protest – well, he’s not really, is he? – but a look from Jaime makes him think twice, and he shuts it again.

“You know how I always used to go to the bridge?” Jaime starts, and Vic nods slowly, suspiciously.

“What’s this got to do with Dan?” he says.

“Wait,” Phil tells him, and Vic shuts up.

“I was…well. I was…dating Dan. For a year, give or take. I saved his life. He saved mine. We were…happy, I guess. But then things turned sour. He started going back into his shell, back into denial, saying he wasn’t gay – which we now know for sure he is; thanks Phil – and I started falling for you. We kept up the pretence for a while, but then it just got too much. We broke up. We didn’t talk for about a year and a half, not until this summer, when I found him by the bridge again. He apologised, in a roundabout way, and we made up. We’ve been secret friends ever since – he doesn’t want Chris and PJ to know we’re friends - or the rest of the school, since it would ruin his reputation – and I didn’t want you guys to know, because you’d have questioned me on everything and I thought it would ruin things. But there is literally _nothing_ going on between us anymore – that was all finished two years ago – and he’s been helping me for the past few months, just like I’ve been helping him,” he finishes, biting his lip anxiously whilst scrutinising Vic’s reaction.

“You dated Dan,” Vic says slowly. “Dan Howell. Daniel James Howell. The Dan Howell who bullied us - bullied _you –_ for years. The Dan Howell who is in love with Phil.”

“Yeah,” Jaime says in a small voice. “I-I’m sorry, I mean, I don’t-“

“No,” Vic says. “You’re not.”

And he walks off without another word, leaving a lost Jaime staring after him and a surprised Phil in his wake.  
-  
“Hey,” Dan says, surprised, when Phil knocks on his door later that evening. Jaime hadn’t spoken to anyone for the rest of the day – he was pretty cut up about the whole Vic thing. _Seriously_ cut up.

“Hey,” Phil says tiredly. “Do you have a minute?” Dan casts a furtive glance back into his house and nods, stepping outside into the cool air.

“What’s up?” he says. “You okay?” Phil sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

“Jaime told Vic today,” he says. “About you and him.” Dan draws in a sharp breath.

“I take it it didn’t go down well?” he says, and Phil shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says. “He hasn’t…I don’t know. He acted the same for the rest of the day, but Jaime didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t look at anyone, just sat there in silence.” Dan sighs, putting a comforting hand on Phil’s forearm.

“Look,” he says. “I’ll talk to Jaim. I’m sure he’ll be fine. You talk to Vic.”

“Yeah, about that,” Phil says. “I don’t really think Vic wants to talk to me either. I was there when Jaime told him, and it was kind of my fault it came out…” he trails off. _Fuck_. He should have let Jaime handle it himself.

“Hey, don’t blame yourself,” Dan says gently, pulling Phil into a hug. Phil drops his head on Dan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries not to cry. Something about the protective way Dan’s arms are wrapped around him, the warmth of his chest and the rhythmic beating of his heart makes Phil want to sob into Dan’s shoulder, have Dan hold him forever, break and shatter and fall apart in Dan’s arms. “We should have been frank with you. I reckon Vic’s most mad about Jaime sneaking around being friends with me; after all, what guarantee does he have that I’m not trying to fuck him?”

“Am I not enough of a guarantee?” Phil jokes, and Dan huffs out a laugh.

“To me, yes. To him? No.” Phil sighs, hooking his arms around Dan’s neck and pulling himself as close to Dan as he can, craving the familiarity and warmth and comfort and _fucking emotion_ that he’s feeling right now.

“He should trust Jaime,” Phil remarks. “What kind of a relationship is one that has no trust? A relationship needs trust, and two-way trust at that. Otherwise there’s no basis for a relationship at all.”

“Do you trust me?” Dan asks. Phil thinks about it for a moment – he shouldn’t trust Dan, has absolutely _no fucking reason_ to trust Dan, but for some reason he does. For some reason, he finds himself able to put his life into Dan’s hands and know Dan would do the right thing, the good thing, the best thing for Phil.

“Yeah,” Phil says in wonder. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then we’re all good,” Dan murmurs. “Because I trust you too.”

James’ earlier words echo in his mind.

_Are you happy now?_

Yeah. Yeah, he is.


	18. Chapter 18

Phil’s dreading the next day at school already. Things are going to be ridiculously awkward between Vic and Jaime, and Tony and Mike won’t know why, and Phil won’t know what to do because it’s kind of his fault the tension is there, and he feels shit about it as it is.

Great.

He drags himself out of bed as late as possible and doesn’t bother running to school, instead walking the long way that gets him there half an hour later than he would usually get there. Vic, Tony, Leon and Mike are all sitting on the grass, but unsurprisingly, Jaime is absent.

“Hey,” Mike yells. “Phil, where’ve you been?” Phil shrugs, dropping his bag to the floor and sitting between Leon and Mike.

“Around,” he says evasively. Mike frowns.

“You seen Jaim?” he asks, and Phil shakes his head. “Ah, fuck. He’s not answering his phone. No one knows where he is.” Phil’s gaze flicks over to Vic, whose face is carefully blank, and he sighs.

“I’ll try and find him later,” he promises, and Mike grins, patting his knee.

“Good boy,” he says, and Phil scowls, hugging his knees to his chest so Mike can never assault them again.

“Anyone going to lessons today?” he asks, and everyone shakes their heads, murmuring something. Phil doesn’t have Music today, more’s the pity, so he’s not planning on going to any either. He hasn’t found a single one worth attending but Music yet (not that he’s attended many, to be fair – Chemistry and Music have been his two most frequent). “Okay, cool. Maybe Jaim’ll show up.”

“Maybe,” Tony echoes.

“Hopefully,” Mike says. Vic mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _I like it like this_ , but Phil chooses to ignore that. After all, it could have just been the wind.   
-  
Jaime turns up not too much later, subdued and quiet and not really interacting much with anyone, not even Phil, and _especially_ not Vic. Mike, Leon and Tony seem to sense that it’s not a good time to talk, so they talk amongst themselves, trying to include a quietly fuming Vic and an awkward Phil into their conversations. Neither Vic nor Phil make much effort, though, and after a while Mike, Tony and Leon give up on them, leaving them in the most awkward silence Phil’s ever been in.

“I’m going to the toilet,” he says after a moment, and no one even bothers to acknowledge him as he gets up and walks into the building, actually needing the toilet but intending to maybe find Dan and lament to him afterwards. The building is silent and seemingly empty when he walks in (although he knows that’s just because everyone’s in the lessons he should be in right now) and he wonders whether he’s ever really seen the school in its prime. He’s walked the bustling corridors only _really_ when they’re empty, not been in many classrooms or interacted with many students or teachers or done much that makes this seem like school to him. It’s just another set of old as fuck buildings, just like his old school, with bullies and teachers and Music and shitness, just like his old school.

But also friends, _unlike_ his old school.

He’s still considering this point when he ambles out of the toilets, swinging lazily into the corridor that he knows from Jaime’s reliable information leads to the sixth form common room, before stopping abruptly. Because the corridor’s not empty anymore.

Dan’s there. And he’s talking to none other than _Vic Fuentes_.

At first, Phil is confused. Vic _hates_ Dan, and probably even more so after what happened yesterday. Vic has never had anything to _do_ with Dan, other than be locked in a cupboard numerous times just because he’s short and Dan thinks it’s funny. So why is he talking to Dan? Is there something wrong? Is Vic trying to sabotage Dan and Phil’s…whatever it is? What’s going on?

It takes him a few moments to realise that what’s probably going on is Dan explaining to Vic what happened between him and Jaime, that there’s nothing going on anymore, why Jaime didn’t tell, what’s been happening in their respective lives and everything that Jaime explained to Phil when they were sitting on the bridge. From the earnest look on Dan’s face, Phil’s hit the nail on the head. He can’t see what Vic’s expression is, but he hopes it’s not stony and sour and cross and angry and unforgiving like it was when Jaime walked into school earlier. Phil’s pretty sure the moment Jaime gathered the courage to let his gaze flicker to Vic’s face his heart broke, maybe for the eighth or ninth or twenty-fifth time since yesterday.

He decides to edge a little closer, see if he can hear what they’re saying. Maybe they’re just talking about Music, or whatever, and Phil’s got it entirely wrong. Or maybe he can gather some information and run back to Jaime and tell him that Vic’s not actually about to decapitate him through anger and jealousy and general Vic-ness.

“…Jaime,” Phil hears as he gets closer into their earshot, edging along the edge of the corridor and praying Dan doesn’t see him before slipping into an empty office near where they’re standing and listening intently. He’s not close enough for listening to be an easy feat, but he’s close enough to hear if he strains.

“But you?” he hears Vic say. “Fuck, man, I’m sure you’re a right old sweetheart deep down but…fuck, it’s got to be _deep_ down.”

“I should hire you as my personal self-esteem booster,” Dan says, but there’s no frost in his voice. He’s honestly just trying to make things a little bit better. “Christ, Vic, I’ve explained everything to you. He’s done nothing wrong, not really. Can’t you just forgive him?”

“I don’t ‘just forgive’ anybody,” Vic says stubbornly. Phil hears Dan sigh.

“Do you know how much you mean to him?” Dan says suddenly.

“Yeah, I-“

“You don’t,” Dan interrupts. “You don’t know. Jaime would do anything for you. Jaime would give his life up for you. Jaime’s willing to watch you grow old with anyone else, _anyone_ , as long as it makes you happy. Do you know how strong of a feeling it takes to override the inherent human selfishness inside us? Jaime doesn’t necessarily want you to be with him. He was okay with you being with Phil, because _it made you happy_. All Jaim’s ever wanted is your happiness, your safety, everything and anything only for you. Do you know how many times he’s cried about you, come to me and sobbed for hours and hours and hours? Do you know how often he’s had to put on a brave face, smile and pretend everything’s okay when it’s not? Do you know what it’s like to be stupidly, ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with someone who doesn’t love you back?”

“I do love him,” Vic protests.

“Not as much as he loves you,” Dan says. “He’d sell his soul to you. He’d probably kill his entire family for you. Anything you want, you need, he’ll do, he’ll get. Everything, anything. Fuck, Vic, you’re his fucking _world_ , his _life_.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Vic says in a small voice. “I want him to be happy too. I treat him like shit. I hurt him. I’m not good enough for him.”

“Say that again,” Dan says, “but not to me. Say it to him.”

“That I’m a dick to him?”

“No, you idiot,” Dan says, and Phil can almost imagine him rolling his eyes. “Tell him that you want him to be happy too. Because you really don’t deserve him, Vic, Christ.”

“I know,” Vic says, and it’s so quiet and subdued that Phil barely hears it. “I don’t know why he loves me. But I’m so fucking glad he does.”

“There you go,” Dan says, more gently this time. “Go and get him. Talk to him. Make up – hell, make _out_. Just not in front of me, because that’s kind of gross.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Vic says, but it’s not sarcastic and it’s not unkind, it’s just a little tentative and worried, as if he’s thinking _what the fuck am I doing taking advice from someone who’s bullied me for the past God knows how many years_. Which, to be honest, probably _is_ what he’s thinking. Phil hears footsteps drawing nearer and shrinks away from the door, trying to make himself as small as possible so that Vic won’t see him if he happens to throw a passing glance into this disused office, but then they stop abruptly, right outside the door.

“Hey, Dan?” Vic’s voice says, much louder than before.

“Yeah?” Dan says.

“Do you…do you love Phil?”

What the hell kind of question is that? Dan and Phil haven’t known each other very long _at all_. It’s not like Vic and Jaime, where there’s been something going on for years and years and years. It’s been a few weeks, months at most. Christ, Vic can’t just _ask Dan that_. If someone had asked Phil that, Phil’s not sure what answer he would have given. He doesn’t even know what love feels like. How can he define it? How does he even tell the difference between that and a stupid little crush? What’s love and what’s lust, where’s the line between true feelings and infatuation?

He’s expecting Dan to answer something along these lines, evasive and questioning and _what the fuck you can’t even ask someone that_ , but he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he hears Dan say. “I do.”

And he’s pretty sure Vic throws a smirk into the office Phil’s occupying as he passes by.  
-  
Phil’s still reeling from the events of the day. The one good thing that his mind has sorted out from the rest of the clutter and junk and crap in there is that the argument between Vic and Jaime had been short-lived. They’d kissed at break, for the first time – Vic had come running out of the building and pulled Jaime up and into his arms, pressing their lips together inelegantly and pulling him close and moaning a little against Jaime’s lips.

Phil has to ignore how hot it was to watch them kiss.

Tony, Mike and Leon had whooped and cheered, and breathless and panting, Vic and Jaime had pulled apart, grinning at each other in the love-struck way only starry-eyed lovers can. Phil had found himself grinning, because after all that time, after all the fuss and trouble and pain Vic has gone through, things are finally looking up for him. Things are finally going to be okay.

He’s taken the long route home – well, he’s gone to the bridge, which isn’t even on the route home but he doesn’t really care – because he has to think about things, try and sort out what the _fuck_ is going on between him and Dan.

Dan loves him. That much is clear. He said so to Vic, and it didn’t sound like a lie – it’s not really like Dan to lie, just maybe…tell selective truths. But he never specified what _kind_ of love, did he? It could just be friendly love, what Phil feels towards the Sexicans and Leon.

 _It’s not, though, is it?_ that annoying little voice that never shuts up says, and Phil exhales deeply, tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky above the waterfall. This place is supposed to make him feel calmer, help him sort out his thoughts, not make him feel even more jumpy and confused.

“I thought I might find you here,” Dan’s voice says from beside him, and Phil lets his eyes flutter shut, stifling a groan. Just who he doesn’t need at all right now.

“Go away,” he mumbles.

“No,” Dan says, and Phil scowls, opening his eyes again and glancing at the glittering water opposite him.

“I need to think,” Phil says.

“I need to talk,” Dan says.

“Go talk to a mirror,” Phil says.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Find a photo of me.”

“ _Phil_.”

“ _Dan_.” Dan sighs.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s why you love me.” And it’s just a passing comment, just what Phil would say to anyone – to the Sexicans, to Leon, to James, Maggie, his mother, anyone – but Dan’s suddenly silent. And Phil remembers, but by then it’s too late. The words have left his mouth.

“Have you ever felt so lost that you thought there was no way you’d ever be able to return to normal?” Phil opens his mouth, thinking _no, I haven’t_ , but then he closes it again.

Because actually, before Dan, he did. He’s forgotten what it’s like to feel like that now, though, because he’s got Dan.

And that is the most terrifying realisation he’s ever had.

“Me too,” Dan says quietly, interpreting Phil’s silence correctly. “Every minute of every hour of every day of every year. I felt so lost and hopeless and worthless and useless and unimportant and meaningless that I just didn’t _care_ anymore. I didn’t love myself – I didn’t _like_ myself – and I didn’t love or like anyone around me either. I didn’t care.” He lapses into silence for a moment.

“Remember the first time we were on this bridge?” Dan asks, and Phil nods grimly. He remembers it all too well. “Remember how I asked you what you could see here?”

“Stars,” Phil says thoughtfully, gazing up at the dusk-stricken sky, the sunset bleeding red and orange and yellow and pink and purple and blue into the sky. “No streetlights. Just stars.”

“That was the first night things were okay,” Dan says. “Because I wasn’t looking at the streetlights. I was looking at the stars.” Phil frowns.

“I thought Jaime was your streetlights?” he says, and Dan grins, but shakes his head.

“Kind of,” he allows. “He was for a while. But there was never anyone else. He wasn’t obstructing my view to anyone else.”

“So what was your streetlight?” Phil asks.

“Suicide.”

The water suddenly seems ten times louder, the air ten times colder, the sky ten times darker.

“Suicide was my streetlight. Suicide blocked me from seeing what I really needed, from the stars and the comets and the asteroids. I was so focused on the idea of dying, of the fantasy world of _what if I didn’t have to deal with any of this anymore_ that I didn’t see anything else  - _couldn’t_ see anything else.”

“So what was your stars?” Phil asks.

“Life. Living, breathing, keeping my heart beating, _being_. I didn’t see what beauty there could be in life, what, though it would need more work to get to, it holds for me. And you showed me that. You showed me that there’s love out there, life out there, friendship and kindness and goodness and things worth staying alive for. Because you, Phil Lester, aren’t my stars, nor my comets, nor my asteroids or my streetlights or my moon. You’re my sky.”

“What?” Phil asks.

“You hold everything together. You hold my life. You hold everything I am, everything I was, and everything I could potentially be. You are the only thing keeping me alive, Phil. You’re everything I’ve got, everything I am.”

Phil doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“What I’m trying to say,” Dan says with a sigh, raking his hands through his hair, “is that I love you, Phil. I’m in love with you.”

Both of them are silent as Phil lets that sink in.

 _Dan loves him_. Not only does Dan love him, but Dan’s _in_ love with him. The difference between the two may seem subtle, but in reality it’s anything but. The difference is between being a reason for the person to live, and being the only reason they’re keeping their heart beating.

And that’s terrifying, that Dan’s life depends on Phil. But it doesn’t scare Phil, not really.

Because in the depths of his mind, he knows it’s the same thing he feels with Dan. Because he’s in love with Dan too.

He doesn’t say that. He can’t say that. He can’t find the words to say _Dan, even though you’re a twat and I still kind of hate you, I don’t, because I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve never been so in love with anyone before._ He’s too scared to, anyway. He can’t bring himself to say it, because then it will be true.

Instead, he kisses Dan. He kisses him with every ounce of emotion and passion and love that he can find within him, shredding every inch of happiness and devotion and friendship and _love_ that he can from his soul and giving it to Dan. Because, in loving Dan, he’s already given himself to him anyway, so what’s the difference?

Dan breaks away from him after a good few minutes, and they stare at each other, grinning.

Because yeah, Phil’s not good at beginnings. Phil’s not good at much. He’s not good at making friends, keeping friends, being a friend, loving, being loved, school, work, anything. He’s never been good enough at anything to be happy, never been happy enough to be free.

But here, right here, with the boy he loves under the stars that brought them together, he thinks he might be. He’s not just happy, he’s free.

And under the stars, under the moon and the sun and the comets and the asteroids and the ISS and all that other junk floating around in the sky, he fell in love.

And under the stars, under the moon and the sun and the comets and the asteroids and the ISS and all that other junk floating around in the sky, he plans to stay in love. He plans to stay in love until there are  no more stars in the sky.

_Oh, there’s a million stars tonight,  
A single one could save my life._


End file.
